The Lost City of Tirillon
by Bainpeth
Summary: Aragorn, Legolas, Elrohir and Elladan search for a lost city
1. Chapter One Lost City of Tirillon

Standard note that Tolkien created the characters, I'm just playing with them. This is not for profit   
and intends no infringement upon anyone's copyright.  
Characters: Aragorn - young Ranger  
Elladan - son of Elrond, twin of Elrohir  
Elrohir - son of Elrond, twin of Elladan  
Vanasulë - Cousin to Legolas and the Twins, royal messenger,healer  
Legolas - hope you know who this is by now!  
This is my first story here, though long ago I actually wrote for a living. Reviews please. This chapter is mean to introduce the characters. It happens roughly 60 years before the War of the Ring  
Rating: PG-13 - will get violent   
  
  
  
---- Chapter One ---  
  
Crouching, the reins of his horse in one hand, Aragorn examined the   
base of the huge oak carefully. Elves often left one another hidden messages   
of their passing; they called them Elven Trails. Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir   
had been following a chain of them for the past hour. Their search was   
somewhat impaired by the heavy drizzle and low hanging clouds that   
blanketed Mirkwood like a shroud cutting off whatever daylight was left.   
Tendrils of mist rose up from the river off to their right, clinging to the ground as they made their way up the slope.  
  
"It's difficult to make out in this light," Aragorn said, as Elladan put a   
hand on his shoulder and leaned over to look at the Ranger's find. "I think   
it's saying one-hundred paces straight north." Puffs of white mist came from   
his mouth with each word.  
  
At twenty-one, Aragorn was considered an adult, yet Elladan still   
thought of him as his Little Brother.   
  
The Man had become the foster brother of Elladan and Elrohir when   
his mother brought him to Imladris for refuge about eighteen years ago. The   
Elven twins had taken him under their wings as he grew, teaching him the   
ways of the forest, mountain, and plains and exploring with him his limits and   
strengths. With the twins, Aragorn had ridden and trekked far, sometimes in   
the company of Elves or Rangers, learning the skills he needed to be a Ranger   
himself. The Dúnedain were his people, yet he still felt more at home in the   
company of the Elves he grew up with. He had told Elladan that he thought   
in Elven and dreamed in Elven, yet he knew common well enough. Neither   
Elf had been so close to a Man before, yet they loved Aragorn as if he were   
their brother in truth.  
  
While other Men considered Aragorn tall, he was a full handspand   
shorter than the twins, yet they had similar coloring and the same intense blue   
eyes graced all three faces. Elladan and Elrohir preferred to wear the clothes   
of the Dúnedain combined with the cloaks of Lorien and Aragorn had taken   
up their habit, yet he preferred black and brown to shades of gray.  
  
"That's what I see," Elladan confirmed. He gave Aragorn's shoulder a   
gentle squeeze and stepped back. He could smell the distant hint of   
something burning. Deep blue eyes scanned the trees for his brother. "Do   
you hear, Elrohir?"  
  
"Yes," came a distant reply only Elven ears could hear.   
  
Elladan watched Aragorn stand. Young, handsome, his hair worn long   
like his foster-brothers', Aragorn might be mistaken for one of them. His   
movements were definitely Manish, yet his speech was fair and his eyes told of   
ancient ties to the Firstborn. In truth, they were distantly related, since   
Elladan's uncle, Elros, founded the line of kings and Aragorn was the last   
descendant of that line.  
  
Since this was Aragorn's first time as their leader, Elladan held back   
and allowed him to find their path.   
  
Vanasulë, one of the Elves' Lothlorien cousins, had brought tidings   
from Celeborn and Galadriel to the twin's father in Imladris several weeks   
ago. His next stop was to be the Halls of King Thranduil, at the northeastern   
most part of Mirkwood. It was Elrohir's idea that Vanasulë make an Elven   
Trail for them to follow, once his errand was completed. The royal   
messenger had agreed, saying he thought he could get a friend or two to help   
out.  
  
Now they followed the Elven Trail Vanasulë had set for them. A   
simple test of Aragorn's skill and a good excuse to visit their kin in Mirkwood,   
thought Elladan. He walked his horse beside Aragorn's.   
  
"This mist is a bother," Elrohir said softly as he joined them. "Goes   
right through my cloak. Winter comes early to Mirkwood." He shook his   
hood to emphasize his statement.  
  
Elladan saw Aragorn looked back at them. With his hood up, all that   
was visible of Aragorn's face in the growing darkness was the silvery glint of his eyes. "I thought the cold didn't bother you," Aragorn softly asked Elrohir.  
  
"Not the cold, the wet," Elrohir explained. "Don't tell me you're   
comfortable."  
  
"Have hope. There is a light ahead," Aragorn whispered.  
  
"Lead on, Estel," Elrohir urged. "It would seem you have won the challenge. We'll have to think of something more worthy of your talents next time, Little Brother."  
  
A smile tugged the lips of the Man into a half-smile. "We're not there   
yet. It could be orcs."  
  
"Only orcs would have left a stink, don't you think?" Elrohir countered.  
  
They walked the rest of the distance to the light and found only a small   
half-smothered fire smoldering in the now light rain and surrounded by a   
circle of large stones. Aragorn paused, his eyes searching for the next clue.   
He found it in the lay of smaller just to the right of the abandoned fire.  
  
"Come on," he called over his shoulder, as he moved purposefully forward.  
  
"You would think Vanasulë could be a little more considerate, with the   
rain and all," Elrohir lamented. "Can't he just call out to us?"  
  
Elladan laughed softly. His brother was constantly making jests,   
keeping them merry during the darkest of times.  
  
A small deer trail lead upwards onto a ledge and they followed.   
  
"Do you see it in this dim light?" Elladan called ahead to Aragorn. "I   
never know what you can and cannot see."  
  
"Even after all these years?" Aragorn's brow rose. He turned forward   
and stared into the darkness. What did the Elf see that he could not see?   
Then he did see it. The slightest hint of light came from the rock face of the   
ledge below them.   
  
"Why do I think they have hidden their horses?" Aragorn asked,   
looking down over the lip of the ledge. He couldn't see any way down, except   
by climbing.  
  
"Maybe they didn't come by horse," a clear Elven voice called up from   
below.  
  
"Or maybe they flew," a second chimed in. "Who goes there?"  
  
Aragorn looked at Elrohir. "What do we do with the horses?"  
  
"We ask them to wait," the Elf replied with a charming smile. "You   
know they'll do just about anything I ask." He gathered the reins from   
Aragorn. The Elves used neither saddle nor rein.  
  
"You would pick a place where we'll get all muddy," Elladan chided the   
Elves below. He lowered himself down, face against the soggy wall of stone.  
  
"We've been here for more than a day, you slow-slugs," Vanasulë told   
him. Elladan dropped the last two feet onto a flat stone floor. Now he could   
see the light coming from within clearly. He stepped in and around the   
curving entrance of stone. "Oh, it's you," he said, recognizing the Elf with   
Vanasulë. "Greetings."  
  
Aragorn dropped down behind Elladan. The cave opening beyond was   
narrow and curved, and with the tall Elf standing in front of him, Aragorn   
could see nothing. It was only when Elladan stepped deeper into the cave that   
Aragorn could see the Elves waiting within. Vanasulë was there, but also   
Prince Legolas, whom Aragorn had only met once or twice. The Elven   
Prince was usually out on his own errands when Aragorn visited the kingdom   
of Thranduil.  
  
The aroma of something delicious made Aragorn conscious of his   
hunger. The warmth drew him further inside.  
  
"Greetings, young Ranger," Vanasulë greeted Aragorn, a wide smile on   
his fair face. "You have done an excellent job. I hope Elladan and Elrohir   
didn't hinder you too much."  
  
"I heard that," Elrohir called from behind Aragorn as he dropped to   
the floor of the cave.  
  
"You know my cousin, Legolas?" Vanasulë asked Aragorn.  
  
Aragorn bowed slightly, "May the stars shine upon the hour of our   
meeting," he said formerly.  
  
"You have certainly grown since I last saw you," Legolas smiled at him.   
"But we are informal here, are we not, cousin?"  
  
"Certainly," Vanasulë agreed. "We are all relatives, in one way or   
another. Family. And this side of the family has brought lots of provisions."  
Aragorn laughed. Being very distantly related was something the twins   
and he had joked about many a time.  
  
Legolas stood beside Vanasulë. They did not look very much like   
cousins, Aragorn thought. Vanasulë was a full handspand above six feet and   
Legolas seemed exactly Aragorn's height. Legolas' hair was a true blond and   
Vanasulë's had the hint of red to it. They differed also in their choice of   
clothes, for Legolas wore the browns and green of his people of Mirkwood   
and Vanasulë wore the grays of the Elves of Lothlorien.   
  
"We have food and more importantly, drink," Vanasulë announced. "Sit down, dry off, and enjoy." 


	2. Chapter Two Lost City of Tirillon

Vanasulë, Aragorn noted as he smiled in gratitude at the warm welcome, had the air of timelessness around him that Elrond had, only perhaps hidden more artfully by a youthful face. A human who looked like Vanasulë would be in his early twenties; the Elf had no age lines to betray how many years he had walked in Middle Earth. It never ceased to cause Aragorn pause when he considered how old his Elven friends were. Even his closest friends, Elladan and Elrohir were born early in the Third Age.  
  
Taking a seat by the fire, the young Ranger's gaze was drawn to Legolas. He looked younger than the others, which meant nothing.   
  
Catching his eye, Legolas smiled as he handed Aragorn a flask of miruvor. "Is it warm enough for you?"  
  
A smile returned to Aragorn's lips. The last time he'd met Legolas was when he'd journeyed with a merchant from Dale and five Dwarves. Elrond thought it would be good experience for the youth to spend time with races other than Elves. Despite Aragorn's warning about the weather turning bad, the group had insisted upon continuing. "A little cold weather never stopped a Dwarf," Galwin the leader of the Dwarves had insisted. They were knee deep in snow with more falling by the minute and totally lost, when the Elves of Thranduil's house rescued them.   
  
By the time Aragorn entered the Halls of Thranduil, he felt half-frozen and could not stop shivering. It was Legolas who guided the shaking youth to a chair by the fire, and it was the Elven Prince who had put a mug of warmed wine in his hand before flinging a thick blanket over his shoulders.  
  
"I shall always be grateful for your kindness," Aragorn felt the renewal of his gratitude, as he spoke to Legolas.  
  
"You were half-blue," Legolas' eyes twinkled in the firelight. "I think it may snow tonight."  
  
"I agree." Vanasulë took a ladle to the small pot hanging over the fire and filled a plate with something that made Aragorn's mouth water in anticipation. "Stew?" Vanasulë held the plate to him.  
  
"After you," Aragorn replied.  
  
"Oh, we ate an hour ago waiting for you three," Vanasulë told him.  
  
Putting down the flask, Aragorn took the plate of stew. He pulled his eating knife from the sheath attacked to his sword's sheath, and began to eat.  
  
A warm sense of camaraderie emanated from the four Elves, and Aragorn was able to forget for a moment how very different he really was from them. At times his sense of mortality came back as one of them mentioned a memory from a millennium before, but then casual talk let it ebb to the back of his consciousness.  
  
As the storm grew more fierce without, Elrohir went out often to check on the horses. When he returned, white flakes salted his dark green cloak.  
  
"I was right," Vanasulë noted. "There will be four inches of snow on the ground by sunup, if there is a sunup."  
  
"Better than living in a desert," Elladan commented.  
  
"Depends on the desert," Elrohir retorted. "There's cold deserts and there's hot deserts."  
  
"Either way, there's no much in the way of greenery." Elladan passed his brother the flask of miruvor that had been making its way around the campfire since their arrival.  
  
"Cold deserts?" Aragorn asked. "I've heard there are vast deserts in the East, but are they cold?"  
  
"Oh, aye," Vanasulë poked a long stick at the fire. "Away south of the Iron Mountains, east of the River Carnen there is a vast desert and the cold winds from the Northern Wastes blow down upon them from the west.  
  
"It is there that the Lost City of Tirillon once stood." The tall Elf nodded as if in memory and Legolas' head bobbed.  
  
"What is this?" Elrohir sat forward. "I've never heard of a lost city."  
  
"Me, either," Elladan looked quizzically at the two blond Elves. "Aragorn?"  
  
The Ranger shrugged. "Only the lands that have gone under the sea."  
  
"Oh, no," Legolas' face grew more animated. "This city was renown for it's evil and it may have been influenced by the Dark Lord, but the story has it that some of the people there were knowledgeable in the arts of Alatar."  
  
"Alatar!" Elladan and Elrohir echoed.  
  
"Who is Alatar?" Aragorn asked, leaning forward, his curiosity peeked.  
  
"Oh, well, that is a long story," Vanasulë said, which did nothing to hinder the twins from filling Aragorn in.  
  
"The Valar sent five Maiar to Middle Earth, the Istari," Elrohir began.  
  
Elladan continued, "You've met three of them, Curumo who is now called Saruman the Wise, Aiwindil or Radagast, and Mithrandir or Gandalf whom we know as Olórin."  
  
Nodding, Aragorn gestured for them to continue.  
  
"Well," Elrohir leaned toward Aragorn, "Haven't you ever wondered about the other two?"  
  
"I think Elrond told me about them once." Aragorn searched his memory. "Didn't the other two go to the far East beyond the Sea of Rhun?"  
  
"It is said they traveled to the East," Elladan agreed, "but it is also said that the arts of Alatar were teachable to Men."  
  
This concept was totally new to Aragorn. "I don't understand."  
  
Legolas continued the story. "Small groups of Men clustered around Alatar, eagerly asking to be taught his magical arts. They almost worshipped him. It is thought among the Sindar that he was able to pass on some of his wisdom to these followers."  
  
In Aragorn's mind came unbidden Elrond's voice. "Mankind is weak and easily swayed by greed and the lust for power." How many times had Aragorn heard that or something similar? He felt a sort of pity for his own people, yet he knew they possessed the strength to choose good, to seek for the benefit of all in a positive, philanthropic way.  
  
"Did they use the magic for evil?" Aragorn had to ask.  
  
"It is said that the most powerful of Alatar's followers founded Tirillon. It was rich in gold and even had veins of mithril," Legolas explained.  
Vanasulë continued, "As you can imagine, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills wanted in on this find, but the Men of Tirillon were able to drive any Dwarf back out of the valley the city lay nestled in."  
  
"They were able to keep the Dwarves from mithril?" Aragorn half-laughed. "I didn't know that was possible."  
  
"These people had very dark minds," Vanasulë spoke more softly, more thoughtfully. "They turned to evil, as did the five wizards who ran Tirillon. Along with greed, they became hateful and disdainful of all other Peoples. They turned wanderers who happened by their city into slaves, and soon they began to send out hunting parties to capture slaves for their minds and other foul purposes."  
  
"Were they influenced by the Dark Lord?" Aragorn wondered outloud.  
  
"Perhaps, but their debauchery and cruelty knew no bounds," Legolas told him. "Refugees from farms and villages over a hundred leagues away flooded west toward Dale. They told of young men and women being stolen from their beds at night by parties of raiders."  
  
Vanasulë shook his head. "It is also said that one night a huge pillar of red light rose up from the valley in which Tirillon lay, and the next morning it was gone."  
  
"Gone?" Aragorn brows furrowed. "Totally gone?"  
  
"So those who fled the place told us." Legolas looked Aragorn directly in the eye and there was no doubting his soft-spoken words.  
  
"But what of the buildings? The people? Surely the Dwarves went in search of the mines," Aragorn sought an explanation.  
  
"Many Dwarves from Under the Mountain went, none returned," Legolas told him. "It is still a mystery."  
  
"Yet, Saruman the Wise returned," Vanasulë said, his bright blue gaze meeting Aragorn's across the fire.  
  
"Saruman investigated the disappearance of the City of Tirillon?" Aragorn was even more amazed.   
  
"He said something none of us really understood at the Council held to discuss this." Legolas looked up thoughtfully. "He said, 'Time has claimed them. They are still there, the entire City is still there, just not in Time.'"  
  
"What does that mean?" Elrohir asked.  
  
"I never understood, but Mithrandir and Radagast seemed to comprehend. They were also at the Council. It was held in my father's chambers, which is the only reason I was invited," Legolas explained.  
  
"I never knew there was a Council to investigate it a lost city," Elladan said softly, "but if it does involve the arts of a missing Istari, I can understand why."  
  
Vanasulë took the flask of miruvor from the ground beside his cousin. "I have a thought," he said slowly.  
  
"It's always good to try something new," Elladan joked.  
  
"This sounds dangerous," Elrohir raised his dark brows. "Go on Healer."  
  
"Healer?" Aragorn hadn't heard Vanasulë called that before.  
  
"Oh, yes," Elrohir turned to face Aragorn. "Vanasulë is a Master Healer."  
  
"I only know him as the Messenger between the Elven kingdoms," Aragorn looked to Vanasulë for confirmation.  
  
"Who do you think wrote half the books in my father's library about the Healing Arts?" Elrohir asked.  
  
Of course, Aragorn had seen the books and even studied many of them under Elrond's tutelage, but he never realized that this was the same Vanasulë.  
  
"Can we get back to the subject of Tirillon?" Vanasulë asked as if bored by the subject of his own history.  
  
"If you first tell me one more thing," Aragorn raised a finger, "Vanasulë, you appear to be a contemporary of mine, which of course you are not. I'm simply curious, when were you born?"  
  
"I was born in the First Age, about two years before Elrond and Elros," Vanasulë told him, a slight smile playing on his fair face.  
  
That explained the sense of timelessness Aragorn felt around Vanasulë. "You were saying about Tirillon?" he encouraged the Elf.  
  
"I was saying," Vanasulë's smile grew, "That we might investigate the Lost City of Tirillon ourselves. What better a lesson for a Ranger than to follow so old a trail?"  
  
(to be Continued) 


	3. Chapter Three Lost City of Tirillon

Except for the crackle of the fire, a silence descended upon the five. Elladan spoke first: "Would that be wise?" His brow furrowed.  
  
"Most adventures do not sound wise," Vanasulë countered, his bright blue eyes sparkling in the firelight.  
  
"I cannot imagine my father approving." Elladan's frown deepened.  
  
"We don't have to ask him for approval," Elrohir said. All eyes turned to him. "I mean, why bother him with our plans to continue the education of our dear friend, Estel?"*   
  
Aragorn felt heat flood his cheeks as all four Elves turned to face him. "I wouldn't shoulder this burden," he said slowly. "It is up to each of you whether you would go on this quest or not and it is also up to you if you would tell your father, Sons-of-Elrond." His gaze met Elrohir's.   
  
"Surely Thranduil's son would enjoy this opportunity tarry a while in the world beyond Mirkwood," Vanasulë suggested, turning his attention upon Legolas.  
  
"The only source of our information is Saruman," Legolas reminded them, "and, if the truth be told, I don't entirely trust him."  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence, broken by Vanasulë's laughter. "Don't let such a minor incident color your entire opinion of the Wizard," the Elf in Lorien-grey suggested.  
  
"What little incident?" Elrohir eagerly asked.  
  
Legolas remained mute, glaring at Vanasulë, who added: "He explained it was only because you resembled Orodreth so closely, didn't he?"  
  
"Legolas!" Elrohir urged. "Don't let us die of curiosity."  
  
A smile tugged at Aragorn's mouth. It had not gone unnoticed that Elves in general and Elrohir in particular were very curious about the world around them.   
  
"If he doesn't care to explain, Elrohir, you shouldn't torment him." Aragorn held up a hand.  
  
"It was just that since I first met Saruman he has had a tendency to stare at me," Legolas spoke slowly. "Almost glare at me, as if there was bad blood between us."  
  
"How could that be, though?" Vanasulë looked to Aragorn, as if he had the answer. "Legolas is the kindest of Elves, honest, loyal."  
  
"You make me sound like a pet dog," Legolas chided. "And perhaps it is ungenerous of me to even speak of it, but I have a sense of unease around him."  
  
"Indeed," Elrohir looked thoughtfully at Legolas. "And what were his doings with Orodreth? That is odd, you see, because Orodreth wasn't even in Middle Earth when Saruman finally arrived. Had you forgotten? The Istari arrived here well into the Third Age."  
  
Vanasulë's mouth fell open. "Why, you're quite right. Do you think he meant that he saw Orodreth in the Halls of Mandos? Do the Maiar visit there?"  
  
"But, you indeed are a descendant of Orodreth's, Legolas." Elladan looked carefully at Legolas. "You may resemble him." Elladan turned his gaze to Vanasulë. If you were just born a little earlier, you might have known Orodreth."  
  
"Legolas' resemblance to Orodreth is a question to take up with Galadriel," Aragorn suggested. Elladan turned to him and Aragorn continued, "After all, he was her brother." Aragorn looked back at Legolas, who raised both brows in a silent question.  
  
"Yes," Elladan laughed, "My father has made sure Estel knows all the lineages of the Elves as well as his own people."  
  
"We venture far from my suggestion," Vanasulë waved a hand, dismissing the entire subject of Legolas' lineage and his dislike of the Wizard Saruman. "Are we going, or are we not?"  
  
"I am willing," Aragorn told him, "though I doubt there will be much to discover after so many have gone ahead of us."  
  
"Good!" Elrohir slapped Aragorn on the back. "I will be there, also. What about you, brother?"  
  
"Aye," Elladan nodded, his blue gaze upon Aragorn.  
  
"Most definitely I shall be with you," Vanasulë told them. "You'll need a Healer and I'm bored these last few years. A new adventure would suit me well."  
The tall Elf looked at Legolas. "Are you in?"  
  
"I would like to see the world beyond Mirkwood and if we bypass my father's Halls, I need not worry him with our journey. It would be interesting to see these distant lands and to look for a city no one else has been able to find."  
  
"We're all agreed," Elrohir grinned. "We can leave at dawn."  
  
" Then I'd better get some sleep." Aragorn sighed. He imagined his friends would be discussing their trip until then.  
  
*Estel means Hope in Sindarin, and was one of Aragorn's names when he dwelt in Rivendell  
Thank you, all of you who have urged me to continue. Some action is coming. 


	4. Chapter Four Lost City of Tirillon

Chapter Three was well received, and I want to thank the following for inspiring me to send more to FanFiction.net: Aralondwen, sabercrazy, Elise, Serena, Minka, Gemma, Estel Kenobi, kfc-elf - some of you have written more than once, and it is appreciated.   
  
So our noble heroes shall go off into danger (as you all knew full well would happen).  
* * * *  
  
  
The wind blew so forcefully, the snow fell sideways across what had been the road. It was now merely more snow, some already piling into thick treacherous drifts. Legolas could make out no indication that civilization had ever touched this part of the world. There was nothing, in fact, save the bitter cold, the howling wind that plucked at cloaks never meant for such savage weather, and growing shadow.  
  
"Aragorn needs shelter," Legolas shouted to Elrohir, as the two rode side by side. "He can't take this cold much longer." His gaze locked with Elrohir's.  
  
"Neither can the horses," the dark-haired Elf reached a gloved hand to pat his steed's neck. "Vanasulë will find us a safe retreat."  
  
"If we ever see him again," Legolas retorted, frustration coloring his voice.   
Vanasulë had volunteered to scout ahead for shelter, but he'd been gone over two hours already. In that time, the dim light that passed for day beneath the dark clouds, had all but given out. Soon it would be as black as coal with no shelter in sight.   
  
The Elves could tolerate the cold, but even Legolas, who knew Aragorn least of them, realized that the Man could die in this weather.  
  
Blinking away the billowing flakes, Legolas attempted to pull the hood of his cloak down and protect his vision as he stared ahead at Aragorn, who sat hunched forward in his saddle. Not one word of complaint. Not one request for rest or warmth. Legolas wondered if all men were so brave, or if Aragorn had an inner strength beyond most mortals.  
  
Legolas heard the approach of Vanasulë's horse before he saw him. Tallest of the party, Vanasulë rode the largest Elven horse of the party. He'd tied a strip of leather around its neck with a bell attached earlier in the day when the snow had begun to fall in earnest. The bell's high-pitched jingle was audible to Legolas' ears above the roar of the storm.  
  
Wordlessly, Vanasulë reached for Aragorn's reigns, turned back the way he'd come, then set both horses a fast pace. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir followed as swiftly as the snow allowed.  
  
For Aragorn, the world had turned into a strange frozen and painful place. His fingers, toes and face had no feeling, except for an occasional sharp stabbing pain. He could see nothing but darkness and he wondered how much longer his numb legs could hold on to his horse's flanks.   
  
Once Vanasulë took the reigns, Aragorn held on to the horse's mane and leaned more fully forward, hoping the heat of the horse would keep him from freezing. They wore cloaks made for camouflage, not for cold, yet he knew of no cloaks that were capable of keeping this cold out.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew where they were. Aragorn recalled the maps they studied of the wasteland between Dale and the Iron Hills. The Dwarves passed between these two points; surely there were some dwellings somewhere.  
  
As he thought back to that brief time they spent going over maps, he remembered the fire, it's warmth and the dryness of their campsite. Lethargy began to seep over him, comforting, soothing. His horse, Galdor, stumbled, jolting Aragorn from his dreams.  
  
"We're almost there," Vanasulë yelled back at him. "See?"  
  
Aragorn saw the Elf pointing, but he saw nothing else. He lowered his head, taking a slow shallow breath. Even the air was painful.  
  
Time seemed to fade, then Aragorn was aware of strong hands helping him from his mount and guiding him, half-carrying him, up some steps and into a room. His legs weren't working right.  
  
"Do you have rooms?" he heard Elladan speaking to someone. Aragorn tried shaking his head to chase some of the fatigue away. Blinking, he looked around. He stood, still held up by one of the Elves, not far inside a large common room of an inn or tavern. A stranger sat by the room's larege fireplace. A small fire burned within. The rest of the room was clad in shadows.  
  
Elladan apparently had addressed the seated person. In the dim light, Aragorn couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, only that the person had a generous girth.  
  
"Oh, aye, plenty of rooms. Everyone leaves when the weather turns bad like this." The man's voice sounded rather sad. "Are you thinking of staying the night?"  
  
"Considering it's well below freezing, we may stay for more than a night," Vanasulë's voice tinged with sarcasm came from beside Aragorn and he realized that Vanasulë had been the one who had helped him inside. "Unless you care to keep them all to yourself, sir."  
  
"Sit," Legolas was urging Aragorn, shoving a chair under him. He rested a protective hand upon the Ranger's shoulder.  
  
Aragorn looked around. He had identified his companions by their voices, since it was dim and they still had their hoods up, yet despite his weariness, he realized someone was missing. "Where's Elrohir? Is he lost in the snow?" Alarm caused Aragorn to attempt to stand and turn toward the door. Legolas' firm hand upon his shoulder kept him in the chair.  
  
"No, Ranger, Elrohir is taking care of our horses. Sit for a while, like Legolas has suggested. Here." Vanasulë passed a small leather wine skin to Aragorn it's top already opened. "Drink. Your Healer orders it."  
  
Aragorn did not have to be ordered. He knew Vanasulë had become Keeper of the Miruvor and he gladly took a few sips. The honeyed cordial slid down his throat, bringing warmth, authentic warmth, to his numb body.  
  
"You can have all the rooms you want, but I must warn you, there's a chance we'll not be alone all night." The innkeeper stood and moved toward a countertop not far from the front door. "Them marauders come this time of year. Most people just hide. They've hit my inn every winter for seven years now."  
  
"What marauders?" Elladan inquired, following the man to the countertop.   
  
"Those fellows from the East. Mean? They'd just as soon slit your throat as look at you. Now where is that quill?"  
  
"Sir," Vanasulë moved toward the innkeeper. "Do you have a name, sir?"  
  
"Dwalkin," the innkeeper told him. "Dwalkin Skipkey."  
  
"Well, Mr. Skipkey, it does sound as if you're trying to scare us off." Vanasulë looked over the countertop at their host, who stood a good foot shorter than the Elf.  
  
"No, good sir, just warning you. I cannot be held responsible for what those no-good brigands might do. If they come, that is. They usually only come this way if there's a lot of snow, and today we've had quite a blizzard."  
  
"Is that what you call this side-ways snow?" Legolas inquired. "I've never seen anything quite like it."  
  
"The winds come down from the northern wastelands, there's nothing to stop them," Mr. Skipkey told them. "How many rooms will you need?"  
  
"If you have a room with a hearth?" Elladan half-asked.  
  
"I have a large room upstairs, right above here with a fireplace. It will sleep six."  
  
"Five is enough," Vanasulë smiled at Mr. Skipkey. "We'll require warm food, fresh bread, something hot to drink. How long will that take?"  
  
"Well, I've got this morning's bread, but tomorrow you'll have fresh. There's stew aplenty and spiced potatoes." Mr. Skipkey turned the registration book around for one of them to sign. "Can you write your name here?"  
  
Vanasulë snorted, slightly insulted at the thought that he might be illiterate and wrote his name using the inn's well-worn quill and ink.  
  
Turning the large registration book back around, Mr. Skipkey frowned at the signature. "I don't recognize this script," he said squinting at Vanasulë.  
In the room, lit only by the small fire in the grate, Dwalkin could not clearly see the faces of his guests. They all wore cloaks and hoods, which were now dripping on the floorboards of the common room. He could see Vanasulë's eyes quite clearly now as he looked up into his fair face. In fact, he could see the slightest hint of a glow coming from his guest's face.  
  
His jaw opened and closed wordlessly for a moment. Taking a step back, Dwalkin reached behind himself for the wall to steady his suddenly shaking knees. "What sort of folk are you?" he asked in a whisper.  
  
"Do not worry, my good man," Elladan assured him. "We are not here to harm you or yours. We merely wish to spend a night or two in peace and warmth."  
  
Now Dwalkin's frightened gaze turned to Elladan, who reached up and let his hood slide back.  
  
"You're . . . Elves," Dwalkin said as if pronouncing them some mythic creatures.   
  
"Yes, some of us are," Elladan smiled. Elrond's sons were almost legendarily charming and Elladan's smile appeared to work just as well upon the innkeeper as it did upon Elves. Fear left the Man's face, replaced with something akin to relief.  
  
"All right then," Mr. Skipkey said getting back to business. "I've warned you of the dangers, so let me get you your key, then I'll get some dinner going. Would anyone like a hot bath?"  
  
"Our friend could use a hot bath before any of us," Vanasulë gestured to Aragorn. "The rest of us will then have to determine who goes next." He cast a wicked smile at Legolas and Elladan.  
  
"None of this 'age before beauty' stuff," Elladan mumbled. "Not tonight, Vanasulë."  
  
Just then the front door opened. A cloud of snow and freezing air accompanied the cloaked figure as he entered. When the door shut and the flickering fire returned to normal, all eyes were upon the new arrival.  
  
"It is I," Elrohir told them. "Were you expecting someone else?"  
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Those of you who predict trouble for our lads... Yeah, you're right. It's coming soon, once poor Aragorn thaws out. 


	5. Chpater Five Lost City of Tirillon

If this intro is a wee bit long, my apologies. Again, I want to thank those of you who have written reviews, which have encouraged me to write more: Aralondwen, sabercrazy, Elise, Serena, Minka, Gemma, Estel Kenobi, kfc-elf, Artemisa, bryn, Estriel and LynD. I do pay attention to suggestions and constructive criticism, and I am grateful for it, so keep it coming. Because of input, I'm planning to increase Elrohir's role mainly because some of you want more of him.   
  
To answer questions, Vanasulë is my own creation, his name in Sindarin means "Beautiful Spirit." He carries a very special bow, Thendidorë{Sindarin for True Heart}. I've been playing D&D since '76 and I created him when my group decided to try a high level campaign (normally, we have only run characters up to 13 or 14th level. He took on a life of his own as protector and archer par excellence.   
  
Many of you will have seen "The Two Towers" by the time you read this, without giving anything away, there is a very touching scene (or two) between Aragorn and Legolas. It shows the viewer again that these two have a history. I wanted to know what it was, and how Elladan and Elrohir taught Aragorn to be an independent and worthy Ranger, worthy of the crown of Gondor. Here's a peek into that history.  
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Unclasping the brooch holding his cloak and swinging it off, Vanasulë followed Dwalkin out of the common room and through a wide doorway into a small foyer. Its shelves were covered with plates and cutlery, mugs and glasses. Dwalkin opened the next door, and a gust of freezing wind blew in. He ducked his head and went outside. Curious, Vanasulë followed. They walked only a few steps under a roofed-over walkway before coming to another building. The Elf followed the man inside. It was a kitchen.  
  
"The inn burned down in 2998," Dwalkin answered Vanasulë's unspoken question, "so the old proprietor decided to have the kitchen detached from the main building.  
  
"And you plan on setting up the bath in here?" Vanasulë asked. The room was warm, a long high fireplace filled the wall to his left, though only a small fire smoldered there.  
  
"Oh, no," Dwalkin turned to face his guest. "It's over there, the next room."   
  
Intrigued, Vanasulë followed the innkeeper's instructions. The next room was a large pantry, but it had a massive fireplace along the right wall. A huge wooden tub sat in the center.   
  
"Water's in the well." Dwalkin stuck his head in the door.  
  
"Which is where?"  
  
Dwalkin jerked his thumb back toward the kitchen. "The well is in here. Much handier that way."  
  
"Handier would be a stream flowing into the tub," Vanasulë said, remembering with fondness the rooms in Rivendell dedicated to bathing.   
  
***  
"I wonder how many hours Mr. Skipkey's stew has been cooking." Elladan looked down at Aragorn, noticing the water dripping from him. "You need to get out of those wet cloths."  
  
The Man looked up. "I have nothing dry to put on."  
  
"I will go get our packs," Legolas volunteered.   
  
"I will go with you," Elladan offered.  
  
"And I shall sit with you," Elrohir sat down in the chair beside Aragorn. "Are you numb?"  
  
"Numb? Just my mind. I am so tired," Aragorn's blue gaze met Elrohir's, "I could sleep for a week."  
  
"The horses feel the same way." Elrohir smiled. "They were glad to get into a stable with clean straw and water." He stood and went to the hearth. "I think a bigger fire is in order." Finding a metal poker, Elrohir stirred the barely flickering logs. "There was more wood alongside the inn. I will get some."  
  
Aragorn did not look up as Elrohir left. His eyelids felt heavy. He fought against closing them and drifting off to sleep. His gaze fell upon his hands. They rested on top of the table. He shifted his left hand to see his ring better. It was the Ring of Barahir, one of his illustrious ancestors, a gift from Finrod, passed down for generations to the heirs of Isildur, to him. "A reminder of your lineage," Elrond had called it. Yet, though Aragorn's ancestors had done heroic deeds through the ages, the one great thing they could have done, went undone to the ruin of all.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
He stirred, looking up to see Vanasulë's sparkling blue eyes upon him.   
  
"Come, your bath is waiting. It will revive you." The tall Elf helped him stand and guided him out to the kitchen and the bathroom.  
  
A refreshing scent filled the air. "What is that? Athelas?"  
  
"Among other herbs," Vanasulë told him. He helped Aragorn get out of his gear. "Do you need assistance?"  
  
"I am just weary," Aragorn assured him. "I can manage."  
  
"The water will not stay warm long in this cold. Get in and I'll bring another kettle. There's soap there on the stool by the tub." Vanasulë left, softly closing the door behind him.  
  
Moving slowly, his hands clumsy, Aragorn sat and pulled off his boots, then undressed and got into the deep wide tub. The warm water enveloped him. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the soap. It was slightly scented with herbs and it lathered like the fine soaps in Rivendell. A smile tugged at his lips as he realized it was Vanasulë's soap.  
  
By the time Aragorn had bathed himself and washed his hair, Vanasulë was back with a kettle of hot water. He poured it slowly into the tub.  
  
"This is wonderful," Aragorn told him slowly.  
  
"You certainly look more alive." Vanasulë smiled.  
  
"Aragorn?" Elladan called from the doorway. "What a marvelous room! Dedicated to the bath, eh? Here are your clothes. Dwalkin says he will dry your wet clothes by the fire."  
  
Depositing some dry clothes, Elladan looked around. "There is nothing to dry yourself with. Dwalkin!" he called.  
  
Only a moment passed before the innkeeper looked in the door. "You called, sir?"  
  
"Towels."  
  
"Towels?"  
  
"There are no towels," Elladan told him.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I have no towels. Will a blanket do?"  
  
"It will do." Aragorn was beginning to wonder if his bath had turned into a social occasion. "Please, Mr. Skipkey."  
  
"Right away."  
***  
  
In the common room, Elrohir loaded more logs onto the fire.   
  
"That is better," Legolas commented. "I wonder if the fire in our room is lit."  
  
Elrohir brushed dust from his hands. "Vanasulë has the key."  
  
"I'll get it." Legolas turned then paused as he detected the sounds of someone coming toward the door at the rear of the room. Vanasulë appeared, Elladan behind him. Elladan had to fight against the wind to close the door.  
  
"Aragorn will be fine," Vanasulë informed them. "He needs rest and warm food. I'll make sure our room is heated." He mounted the stairs.  
  
In a soft low voice, Elladan said, "I am concerned." He moved over to Legolas and Elrohir. "I had a moment with Mr. Skipkey. These marauders he spoke of are viscous. They raped and killed members of his family, maimed one of his brothers and robbed the entire town blind year after year. Mr. Skipkey is still fearful that they may come here very soon."  
  
"We shall be vigilant," Legolas assured him.  
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Okay, the fun starts in Chapter Six. 


	6. Chapter Six Lost City of Tirillon

It was nearly dawn by the time Legolas got his turn in the tub. He had drawn the shortest straw and still could not help but wonder if there was a conspiracy among his friends.  
  
Even though the room had been kept heated by a fire all night, the air had a chill to it. Veils of steam rose from the warm waters of the tub. Legolas watched them as he pulled his soft boots on over deliciously dry socks.   
  
The feel of his long wet hair falling over his shoulders, down his back and dripping down his bare skin, annoyed him. Picking up the blanket he had used as a towel, Legolas tried to wring more water from his soaking locks.  
  
The door opened and Aragorn entered, quickly closing it behind himself. He was breathing hard, as if he'd just exerted himself, and there was snow on his boots. Legolas' weapons harness and bow were in Aragorn's hands.  
  
"The marauders are here." He spoke in Sindarin, moving closer. "They are downstairs in the common room, as yet unaware of us." He held out Legolas' weapons harness. It carried his white knives and quiver. Legolas' bow was in Aragorn's free hand. It struck the Elf that this Man had gone through some difficulty to bring them to him and he met the other's blue gaze with gratitude.  
  
"I thank you, Aragorn." Legolas slung the harness on over his bare skin. "How did you manage to get past them?"   
  
"I went out the window."  
  
Legolas took the bow. "We shall greet them warmly when they enter."  
  
The door handle moved. Legolas drew his bow. Aragorn readied his long sword. Dwalkin Skipkey looked inside. Seeing them, he came in saying: "It's only me."  
  
Legolas lowered his bow.   
  
"Are you planning on hiding in here?" Aragorn asked, reverting to the common tongue.  
  
"No. I'm going into the root cellar." Dwalkin walked to a large square trunk against one wall. "I hid the entrance a few years ago, after they..." His words trailed off. "Never mind. There's room for all of us."  
  
"I prefer to fight," Legolas told him.  
  
"And I," Aragorn agreed.  
  
Dwalkin opened the lid to the trunk and reached inside. "You should reconsider my offer. This rabble is not concerned about who they hurt. You and your friends all have handsome faces, they may mar you for the sport of it, or make you wish you were dead, if you get my meaning."  
  
"How many did you see?" Legolas asked.  
  
Dwalkin lifted up the fake floor on the inside of the trunk. "A couple dozen. Good luck." He stepped over the edge of the trunk, disappearing downward, the fake floor going down behind him. "Would you mind closing the lid?"  
  
Aragorn kicked the lid shut. He sensed Legolas stiffen beside him.  
  
"They are coming," Legolas whispered in Sindarin.  
  
The door burst open. A man dressed in a dirty coat with the fur turned inward stood in the doorway eating a chicken leg. His long black hair was flying in every direction. Throwing blades hung from crisscrossed straps across his chest.  
  
Dark eyes rose to take in the sight before him. A new hunger came into his eyes. "Fresh meat," he said gleefully. He tossed the chicken leg aside. One hand moved to draw a knife. Legolas' bow sang. A green-fletched arrow sprouted from the man's throat. He fell dead in the doorway without a cry.  
  
Two more of the marauders came to the doorway, one behind the other. The rear one yelled something Aragorn did not catch. The front one charged at him. Aragorn stepped forward to meet him.   
  
Legolas' arrow hit the rear man. The Elf stepped back and to the side so that the two combatants weren't in his line of fire.  
  
Metal clanged on metal as Aragorn's sword met the marauder's. These men were from the East, Legolas observed as he drew another arrow. Easterlings. Perhaps deserters. They wore pieces of armor, but not full suits.  
  
As Aragorn and his foe parried, it was not obvious to Legolas who had the advantage. Aragorn was taller, his sword longer and better made. Yet the Easterling was fast. Legolas had never seen Aragorn fight before. As Aragorn blocked and swung, Legolas recognized the fighting style of Elladan and Elrohir, yet the Man added touches of his own and his sword was the sword of the Men of Westerness.  
  
More alarmed voices came from the kitchen. The doorway filled with two more men. As soon as they saw Legolas, they reached for their weapons. Two more deadly arrows flew. Four bodies lie piled in the doorway.  
  
Jerking aside from a snake-quick trust of his opponent, Aragorn continued around, his sword held backwards by his right hip. The turn brought his back right up against the man's chest. Aragorn's sword pierced through the ineffective armor.  
  
"I trust our friends are taking care of the balance of our foes inside the main building," Legolas said casually, yet he still had an arrow knocked, his eyes and hearing focused on the doorway.  
  
***  
  
The dawn sun crept up over a winter landscape carpeted in white. Its beams glittered off the new snow like carelessly scattered diamonds. Elrohir took the beauty in, even as he moved silently alongside the barn.   
  
The sword he held in his hands was made by his people over three thousand years ago. Its blade was as sharp enough to split hairs. His Elven hearing could detect only two voices over the noise of several horses. The Men had discovered the Elven horses inside the barn.   
  
His face relaxed, his breathing even, Elrohir held his sword almost loosely as he circled around to the open doors of the barn. There were three men. They were all about Mr. Skipkey's height, wearing thick coats and boots of fur turned inward, bows and quivers full of arrows across their backs, swords at their hips. One man had a long-handled axe.  
  
"We can take these and sell them," a man with his black hair in a long braid down his back said.  
  
"I say we keep them." The man with an axe across his back moved forward. "They're larger than our horses. Pretty things."  
  
"You were not thinking of stealing my horse, are you?" Elrohir asked, lazily. He leaned against the barn door, his sword point down.  
  
The three men turned. None of them had ever seen an Elf and they mistook Elrohir as a young man.  
  
"And a youth like you is going to stop us?" The man with the axe asked, laughing. His comrades joined in.  
  
"Precisely." Elrohir smiled pleasantly. He reached to flick a piece of dust off the bracer of his right wrist.  
  
"There's better uses for someone with such a face," the man with the axe retaliated. "Come on boys, let's get him and try not to hurt him too much."  
  
The silent man stood closest to Elrohir. He drew his sword and almost swaggered with confidence forward. He lifted his blade to hit Elrohir and, faster than human eye could follow, the Elf struck, his blade biting deep into the chest of his foe. With a stunned expression on his face, the man's knees gave way. Elrohir raised a leg to brace the body as he pulled his sword free. Dead, the body fell to the snow.  
  
With an angry growl, the man with a braid drew two swords and circled around to Elrohir's right, while the other man pulled his axe free and circled to the left. The Elf did not wait. He faked a lung to the left, then went right. He blocked a blow from the swordsman's right hand with his own blade, then kicked up at the inside of the man's left arm.  
  
Crying in pain, the man's arm went numb. His sword fell from his left hand. Elrohir continued with the momentum, swinging around so that his back was to his opponent, he shoved his left elbow into the man's neck and was rewarded with a satisfying gurgle.  
  
The axe bearer came toward him, hatred in his eyes. "So, this delicate piece of work can bite," he said. "So can my axe." He swung sideways. Elrohir gracefully danced from the axe, swinging his sword in a short arch, catching the man in the neck. It was not a fatal blow, but it drew blood and seemed to further infuriate the man.  
  
Turning, Elrohir moved back toward the swordsman, jabbing with his long Elven blade, careful not to let it sink in too deep as he hit the man between neck and shoulder.  
  
The swordsman fell, crimson staining the snow. Elrohir looked over his shoulder at the one still-standing enemy. Confidence had gone from the man's demeanor. He was now fighting for his life against a foe who moved like the wind.  
  
As he stood, axe in hand, staring at this tall stranger who had killed his two comrades, the man remembered that over a dozen of his party were inside the inn. All he had to do was call for help. He took a step back. His opponent took two steps toward him. He carried a strange sword with a slight curve to it. The blood of the man's fellows dripped from the highly polished blade.  
  
"Your time of killing has come to an end," Elrohir said to the man. "Surrender or die."  
  
"To you? Never!" Determination came into the man's eyes. "Susai!" he called. "Susai, we're under attack!"   
  
"No one comes," Elrohir said after a few moments. "Do you not hear it? They are fighting my friends. None of you shall survive. Do you still refuse to surrender?"  
  
The man answered with a growl as he raised his axe and charged forward. Elrohir deflected the downswing, twisting his own blade to cut the man's hands. Bleeding, the man still clutched his weapon.   
  
With sadness in his heart for the waste of life Elrohir realized it was time to end this. His blade whistled through the air before landing in the man's neck. He fell to his knees, his bloodied hands reaching for his ruined neck, then collapsed onto the snow.  
  
Wiping his blade on the man's coat, Elrohir remembered young Aragorn. Was he still with Legolas? They might need help. He looked up at the inn. It was strangely quiet. 


	7. Chapter Seven Lost City of Tirillon

Thank you to everyone who has sent in a review. I'm on vacation, waiting impatiently to see TTT again. This story is helping me make it through until then and hopefully beyond.  
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The moment Aragorn was safely out the second floor window bearing Legolas his weapons, Vanasulë and Elladan moved toward the stairs.   
  
"Elrohir, you take the stables. Give most of them a chance to get inside the inn, then clean up any stragglers," Vanasulë automatically took over as head strategist. "Elladan, you and I shall hold them off at the stairs. Anyone using a missile weapon is targeted first."  
  
"This is supposed to be new to me?" Elladan queried.  
  
"We have not fought side by side in many a year." The older Elf grinned at his friend. "Let us hope we do as well today, for I fear you and I shall take the brunt of it."  
  
"It is not us I worry about."  
  
"Legolas will make sure Aragorn comes to no harm. This will be good experience for him."  
  
"But, Vanasulë, he has never had to fight other Men before." Elladan's voice conveyed his own distress at having to fight Men. "Despite the fact that I think of him as my brother, he is a Man."  
  
"Sometimes fighting is unavoidable. We shall offer to let them surrender, but I fear they will not agree." Opening the door to their spacious quarters, Vanasulë lead the way out to the stairs.  
  
By the time the two warriors got into position, Dwalkin had fled the common room. A large number of Men, their unwashed bodies scenting the air with sweat and the pungent order of horse, were settling near the fire, which provided the only light in the dim room.  
  
Halfway down the steps, the two Elves paused. They had their bows, arrows knocked, in their hands. No one seemed to have noticed them. The Men below were complaining about the storm, the snow, the lack of women in the town. The Elves stood poised, still as stone, waiting for the marauders to finish entering. The dim light did not affect their Elven sight.  
  
A few men went off in search of food, but there were still over a dozen huddled by the fire.  
  
"Excuse me," Elladan called politely. "But we have heard about your past raids upon the town and we give you a chance to surrender now or die."  
  
The mumbled conversation halted at Elladan's first word as every eye in the room turned toward the stairs.  
  
"Surrender?" The largest of the Men looked the Elves up and down. "To what army?"  
  
"To us." Elladan gestured to Vanasulë with a gesture of his head, his eyes still upon the rabble below.   
  
His answer brought a round of laughter. The leader stepped closer. "You two pretty boys think you can take us on, do you?" He squinted as he tried to see them more clearly. "I eat your kind for lunch."  
  
"This is your last chance." Vanasulë spoke slowly. He wanted to make sure these people understood what he said. "Surrender now or die this day."  
  
"Did you hear that, Susai?" one of the Men called to the leader. "He's giving us a chance. How kind of him."  
  
With a growl, another marauder pulled a throwing axe from his belt. It was all the impetus the Elves needed. Vanasulë's bow sang of death and a white-fletched arrow buried itself in the axe-thrower's forehead right between the eyes.  
  
A vexed murmur began to build, outrage mingled with disbelief, as the Men realized what had happened. It had been so fast, none had seen Vanasulë draw his bow, yet he already had another arrow knocked.  
  
"Last chance," Elladan called.   
  
A wave of anger washed across the room. Men drew weapons, and almost as quickly as their weapons left their sheathes, deadly-accurate arrows flew from bows.  
  
Susai was quick to toss a table on its side and take cover. He called for the axe-throwers to throw their weapons. Two more men scuttled on hands and knees to cower beside him.  
  
The moment one of the marauders tried to raise a weapon against the Elves, he was cut down.  
  
"Rush them," Susai called. He and the two men behind the table with him picked it up and rushed towards the stairs. They had not planned their attack well. The table was wider than the stairs and the railing barred their progress past the first few steps.  
  
"This is pathetic," Elladan whispered in Sindarin. Then louder, in the common tongue he called, "Do none of you wish to live?"  
  
"No one surrenders, or I kill him myself!" Susai growled from behind his table-shield.  
  
"Let's set the inn on fire and burn them out," someone suggested.  
  
"Touch the fire and you die," Vanasulë warned.   
  
No one dared move. It was a standoff. Only five of the marauders remained alive. Elladan and Vanasulë were unscathed.   
  
The front door of the inn opened. Susai turned to look, expecting to see more of his followers. Instead there was another tall, longhaired youth. He carried an strange long sword with a curved blade.  
  
"Need any help?" Elrohir called from the doorway.   
  
One of the marauders by the door panicked and attempted to flee past Elrohir. An arrow hit him in the shoulder and he dropped to one knee in pain, but did not let go his weapon.  
  
"I would drop your sword if I were you," Elrohir told the man. "My sword is longer than yours."  
  
The man looked over at Susai. Frustrated, the leader of the marauders yelled a curse, picked up the table and tossed it sideways up the stairs, causing the two Elven archers to retreat a few steps back.  
  
"Get him. He'll be our hostage!" Susai yelled at the wounded man who knelt before Elrohir.  
  
"I think not," Elrohir warned the man, holding his sword between them.   
  
The other man in the room picked up an axe from one of his fallen comrades and threw it at Elrohir, who easily deflected it with his sword.  
  
A bow twanged and the man fell dead. "Attack my brother and you die, too," Elladan told the kneeling man.  
  
Vanasulë drew his sword and faced the three Men on the stairs. He kicked the table down towards them, and followed in his wake. Steel glittered in his bright eyes.  
  
"Stay together," Susai urged his Men. Yet even his black heart shrank at the sight of the swordsman bearing down upon them, his strange long sword held more like a quarterstaff than a regular sword.  
  
With a war cry, Susai and his men tossed the table aside and rushed to meet Vanasulë. The long curved blade of the Elf moved forward, catching the light of the fire, glittering red for a moment before swinging up, then across. Its deadly steel sliced easily through the armor of the marauders, cutting the man on the left from stomach to throat before slicing across the neck of the man on Susai's right. In a moment, only Susai was left standing, his eyes wide in shock as he recognized his own death in the El's flashing eyes.  
  
Setting his jaw, Susai still came on, the reach of his sword no match for the Elf's.  
  
In a moment it was over. Only one marauder remained alive kneeling before Elrohir and he had an arrow buried in his shoulder.   
  
"I take it you surrender," Elrohir said to him.  
  
The man seemed to deflate. He fell back on his heels, holding his empty good hand up for Elrohir to see. "What are you people?" he asked in a hoarse voice.  
  
"We are Elves. Ever heard of us?" Elrohir asked, moving to kick the man's sword away. "Yes, I see that you have."  
  
"I thought you were all gone," the Man told him.  
  
"Not all. Not yet."  
  
The back door of the room opened and Legolas entered, Aragorn behind him. The two looked at the carnage with sad acceptance, their expressions almost identical.  
  
"What is this, a new fashion?" Elladan asked, coming down the stairs. His glance was upon Legolas, who had buckled his weapons harness on over a bare chest.  
  
"Do you think it will catch on?" Legolas' left brow rose.   
  
"Not unless you comb your hair." Elladan smiled.   
  
"Where is Dwalkin?" Elrohir came further into the room and sheathed his sword. "Does anyone have any rope?" His gaze went down to their wounded prisoner.  
  
"What he needs is a Healer," Vanasulë announced. He walked over to the Man, who looked up with dread in his eyes.  
  
"You going to pull it out?" the Man asked.  
  
"I will try not to hurt you." Vanasulë pulled up a chair and gestured to the man to sit. He then pulled up another chair and sat facing the man's shoulder. "Listen to what I say."  
  
Aragorn moved closer. He had not seen Vanasulë heal before. The Elf spoke softly to the man and Aragorn caught only the rhythmic rise and fall of the speech, not the words himself. He saw the prisoner's eyes close, his head slump forward.  
  
"Hold him," Vanasulë asked no one in particular. Aragorn moved forward quickly to hold the man steady. He appeared to be asleep.  
  
His eyes focused upon the man's wound, Vanasulë seemed to look beyond the skin and muscle. "It has hit the bone," he said softly. Bracing the man with one hand, he used the other to swiftly pull the arrow free.  
  
As expected, blood gushed from the wound. Instead of reaching for herbs or dressings, as Aragorn expected him to do, Vanasulë held his cupped hands over the wound, not touching it. The Ranger bent closer, wondering what sort of healing this was.   
  
At first, all he could see was the normal dim glow of light around the bare flesh of all Elves. Then it began to grow. Aragorn sucked in his breath as the light around Vanasulë's hands turned to a pink-gold color, brightening in intensity. Aragorn's gaze rose to the Healer's face. He found a look of intense concentration there, which was slowly replaced by something akin to bliss.  
  
Aragorn could feel it, too. Perhaps because of his contact with the object of the healing, but a sense of otherworldliness crept over him. He closed his eyes and could see a light there, so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes.  
  
Several moments later Aragorn heard Elrohir say. "You can release him now." A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Blinking, Aragorn looked down to see that the wound in the man's shoulder was completely gone, as if it had never been. Vanasulë still sat in the nearby chair with a sublime look on his face.  
  
"How did you do that?" Aragorn managed to ask.  
  
"I am a channel," Vanasulë told him looking down. His speech was slow, as if he found it difficult to form the words. "It is the power of the Valar that healed this man." His blue eyes rose. His gaze met Aragorn's. "It is a gift."  
  
"And what is the light I saw?" Aragorn asked in awe.  
  
"You saw the light?" Legolas asked, stepping up behind Vanasulë.   
  
Aragorn nodded.  
  
"It is the light of Elbereth that you saw, Aragorn," Legolas explained. "It is the very light of the Vala." 


	8. Chapter Eight Lost city of Tirillon

A heart felt "Thank you" everyone who has been giving me reviews. They are appreciated. If you thought you knew what was going to happen next, I hope this is a surprise for you.  
Sabercrazy, thank you again. Because of you, I discovered the Mellon Chronicles in the past couple of days, and I've been spending every free minute reading them!  
Now on to our story.  
  
*** *** ****  
Chapter Eight  
***** ***** *****  
  
Stunned, Aragorn could only look from Vanasulë to the man's healed shoulder.  
  
"I guess our father did not teach you that form of healing, did he?" Elrohir joked softly. "It cannot be taught and, as far as any of us know, Vanasulë is one of the only two Elves left in Middle Earth who can still heal that way."  
  
The Ranger was too amazed to comment further.  
  
******* ********** ********  
  
At last, Legolas found a free moment to return to the bathroom and retrieve the rest of his clothes. As he stood there, slipping his arms through the silver-blue sleeves of his tunic, his gaze wandered to the trunk Dwalkin had disappeared into.   
  
Fastening the last silver latch at his throat, Legolas went to the trunk, opened the lid, and knocked on the false bottom. "It is over, Mr. Skipkey. You can come up. We killed all but one, and he is captive."  
  
Legolas had time to pull on his outer tunic and begin tightening the suede lacings on the sides by the time Dwalkin emerged from his hiding place. "Did you say you killed them all?"  
  
"But one."  
  
"All?" Dwalkin's face registered disbelief.  
  
The Elf raised one hand and pointed to the pile of bodies in the doorway. "See for yourself. We have not had time to bury them yet."  
  
Incredulity written across his face, Dwalkin stepped over the bodies and disappeared from sight. After finishing his grooming, Legolas slug his weapons harness back across his shoulders and refastened the buckle securing it. He picked up his bow and went back to the common room, where he found Dwalkin surrounded by the other Elves and Aragorn. They all had unreadable faces.  
  
"What is amiss?" Legolas asked, stepping up beside young Aragorn. The Man's blue eyes burned with worry.  
  
"You have accounted for only a couple dozen of them." Dwalkin turned to face Legolas fully. "This was only part of their numbers."  
  
"Dwalkin tells us there are at least sixty more," Elrohir informed him, his fair face clouded by his concern.   
  
"Sixty?" Legolas echoed. "So many?" His gaze rose to meet his mentor's. Vanasulë looked as distressed as the others. He slowly nodded. Legolas squared his shoulders: "Then we need a plan."  
  
"Legolas is right," Elladan nodded. He strode to the one captive they'd taken, who still sat in a daze not far from the door. "What is your name?" he asked the man.  
  
"What?" Blinking, the man looked up at the dark-haired Elf.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Pao."  
  
"Pao, we need to know how many men ride with you."   
  
Pao shrugged. "We got separated in the storm yesterday. We number between eighty to almost a hundred. It varies."  
  
Dwalkin moaned, and put both hands up to his head. "When they come and find their men dead in my inn, they'll skin me alive. What shall I do? What shall I do?"  
  
"I shall go watch for anyone approaching town," Elrohir announced. "I'll be up on the roof." He headed up the stairs.  
  
"It's a very steep roof," Dwalkin called.  
  
"He is very clever with heights," Elladan assured the innkeeper. "Now, what about a plan?" His blue gaze touched lightly upon Legolas and Vanasulë, before Aragorn spoke and Elladan focused upon him.   
  
"Mr. Skipkey." Aragorn, left hand casually resting atop the hilt of his sword, walked to the innkeeper's side. "Have you any neighbors who can help us?"  
  
"There are no warriors here." Dwalkin looked distraught.  
  
"Not warriors, just men who are willing to put an end to the murder and intimidation." Aragorn's eyes blazed a volcanic blue as he stared into the shorter man's face. He put both hands on the man's shoulder, demanding his full attention. "We can beat them."  
  
"I almost believe you," Dwalkin said softly.  
  
"Believe me." Aragorn removed his hands from the man. "If you can find five good men to aid us, nay, five good people, men or women, we can defeat them."  
  
"How?" Dwalkin asked.  
  
All eyes were on Aragorn. "They raid, hit and run. So shall we. But they cannot know their friends already met their end. We must bury the bodies and send the horses out of town so they are not alerted. Then we must set up an ambush."  
  
"Mirkwood tactics," Vanasulë nodded slowly. "But we have no forest here to hide in here. The ground is mostly level."  
  
"No, but we can still create an ambush. Surely the town has wagons and barrels. We can blockade one end and then shoot from rooftops, disappearing into the snow when they come looking. They'll think a whole army of Elves is after them." Aragorn grew more animated as he talked.  
  
"Or we can drug them." Vanasulë spoke softly, his gaze far away. "If they intend upon drinking Mr. Skipkey's ale, why not put a little something extra in it? Once they're asleep, we can remove their weapons and secure them."  
  
"Some may go off on their own looking for women," Dwalkin told them. "Or worse, the young ones. No one is safe from them, not even our youngest ones."  
  
"Then we can track down those that slip through our trap, one at a time, and dispense of them while their fellows drug themselves." The tall Elf's silver-blue gaze met Dwalkin's.  
  
"And what will you do with all of them?" their prisoner asked. "You can't just tie them all up and leave them here."  
  
Elladan "He has a point."  
  
"We can march them to the nearest lawful settlement for trial," Aragorn suggested.  
  
"In this snow?"  
  
"I will not slit their throats while they sleep." Aragorn crossed his arms.  
  
"Nor we," Legolas assured him. "Then it is attack and withdraw. We will need a safe place to meet." He looked back at Dwalkin. "Surely there is some place outside of town where we can set up a safe camp?"  
  
The innkeeper looked thoughtful, his gaze still upon the Elf's flawless face. "There's a cave, it's not far. I can take you there. But first, I have to do as Master Aragorn has suggested. I will get some friends together, those who haven't gone out into the countryside to hide. We have to bury these bodies and get rid of their horses." He looked over at the prisoner. "And I don't see why Pao, or whatever his name is, can't help."  
  
******* ******** *********  
  
Elrohir sat watching the second dawn from his perch atop the inn. The sun rose in the east sending shafts of rose and gold flowing over the winter landscape. Even as it rose, its light was shadowed by a thick line of storm clouds hanging threateningly over the village and as far as Elrohir could see. The higher the sun rose, the more it was cut off until the morning was once again grey and overcast.  
  
From his vantage point on the inn's roof, Elrohir had enjoyed a view of most of the goings on in the village over the past twenty-four hours.   
  
Yesterday, Dwalkin had gone from house to house with Aragorn, recruiting those with courage to help fight the marauders. Legolas, Vanasulë, Elladan and the prisoner Pao had spent most of yesterday burying the bodies of the dead raiders. The villagers who had volunteered had split up into three groups of two people each. They had driven the horses of the ravagers far away from the village, before setting them free. The Elves and Aragorn's own horses had been split up and hidden, each at a different home in the village.   
  
The rest of yesterday was spent in archery practice with the Elves as the villagers' instructors. It soon became obvious that the town's women were the better shots and they were handed out the best bows.  
  
Elrohir was relieved for a few hours at sunset by a villager who said he would keep lookout from the top floor of the inn, but not up on the treacherous roof. Free of his self-appointed task, Elrohir joined the others. Dwalkin lead the Elves and Aragorn to his secret cave. Each carried supplies, candles, bedding, wood and water through the deep snow. Their path lead them out the back door of the Dwalkin's kitchen, across the garden and over a small rise to the other side. The cave's opening was covered over by a well cap mantled in snow.  
  
"Word has it that this was a good well once, but the stream underground changed its course decades ago." Dwalkin brushed the snow aside with gloved hands, revealing the metal well cap. "Good thing it did, because now we have the well right inside my kitchen. I haven't opened this since I was a boy. It is very old."  
  
"Allow me." Vanasulë put down the bundles of blankets and bedding he carried. He stepped gracefully over to the edge of the well cap, grasped the iron ring with both hands, and pulled. A loud sound of resisting rusty metal sang in the air as aged hinges grudgingly moved.  
  
Picking up his lantern, Dwalkin held it over the black hole. "It's a ways down."  
  
"Let us see." Legolas lowered a length of rope, handed the end to Vanasulë, then carefully lowered himself over the edge and down. His pale head disappeared from view and Vanasulë let out more of the rope.  
  
"How long is your rope?" Aragorn asked, leaning towards the Healer.  
  
"Just short of eighteen fathoms."  
  
Aragorn's brows rose. "I hope it is long enough."  
  
"I am down," Legolas called up moments later. "It's only about three fathoms from the top to the floor. Can you secure the rope somewhere?"  
  
Vanasulë looked around. The only thing he could see stable enough to secure the rope to was the well cap itself. That wouldn't do. They might have to close it and hide.  
  
"Mr. Skipkey, did you say that this was part of an underground river?" Vanasulë asked.  
  
"I did indeed."  
  
"That's what I thought." Vanasulë bent over the opening. "Legolas, look and see where the cave leads. There might be another exit."  
  
It was quiet for a while, then they heard Legolas' soft voice again. "I will need light. This is dark, even for my eyes."  
  
"I'll bring down the supplies and light for him," Aragorn volunteered.  
  
Elrohir stomped his foot in the snow. "I'm getting bored. I'll go, too." He unslung another length of rope from his shoulder and handed the end to his brother. "Brace yourself well," he instructed Elladan.  
  
"Oh, I shall. I don't want you to pull me down with you." The twin gave his brother a conspiratorial grin.   
  
Aragorn caught the look and knew there was a history there, but the telling of that tale would have to come later.  
  
Once down on the firm rock below, Legolas, Aragorn and Elrohir explored up and down the length of the cave. To the south it dropped down through a narrow channel into an uneven, boulder-strewn cavern, and continued down beyond the reach of their lantern. To the north, it sloped gently uphill. The ceiling continued down to meet it, until there was only a very narrow slit and they could go no further.  
  
"Well, if they discover our place and try to follow us, we shall lead them south," Aragorn announced, "but I do not think we have time to search it thoroughly now."  
  
"I am not fond of caves anyway," Legolas admitted as they retraced their steps to the space below the entrance.  
  
"But your father's halls are caverns, are they not?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"True, they are under the hills, but you have seen them, Aragorn son of Arathorn, have you not?" Legolas asked. "They were inspired by the Halls of Thingol. Each pillar is carved into the likeness of a tree with branches and leaves and there are lights everywhere. It does not feel like a cave. And gentle springs run here and there, their music filling the chambers. It does not sound like a cave."  
  
"You have me!" Aragorn grinned, holding up both hands. "I will never refer to the Halls of Thranduil as a cave again!"  
  
"Rightly so," Legolas sniffed, but Aragorn caught the sly wink he cast at Elrohir.  
  
Their journey back to the entrance was accompanied by an infrequent tapping, which roused their curiosity.  
  
"You are awfully quiet," Aragorn looked to his foster brother. "What ails you?"  
  
"I'm just hoping those brutes do not kill any more innocents," Elrohir admitted. "Perhaps Vanasulë's plan is the wiser choice, but I cannot see myself killing drugged men, no matter how evil they have become."  
  
Aragorn put a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "There is always hope that they can reform. Look at Pao. He has turned out to be rather industrious today."  
  
"He has," Legolas agreed.  
  
They had reached the bottom of the ropes and Legolas called up. "We still have to secure the ropes so we are not stranded down here."   
  
"We have driven stakes into the sides of the opening while you were exploring," Elladan called down, his face a dark shadow against the darkening sky above.   
  
"That explains the noise we heard," Elrohir said softly.  
  
"We will lower down the rest of our gear, then you can come back up."  
  
  
They had managed to supply the cavern without incident and everyone went back to the inn to wait for the marauders. Several of the villagers joined them for a hearty meal that night, for some it might be their last night of peace together.  
  
**** ******* ****  
  
  
His eyes scanning the shadowed horizon, Elrohir had to admit they had come up with the best plan possible under the circumstances. He saw a dark bird fly out across Dwalkin's garden then swing around to the north. His gaze followed it until it was out of sight. Idly he wondered where it was going in such a hurry.  
Something caught Elrohir's attention. Far north of the village a dark smudge on the horizon shifted. He stood, peering into the dimness, his dark grey cloak whipping about him in the cold breeze. It was several men on horseback, though he could not count how many.   
  
With the agility only an Elf possessed, Elrohir ran down the snow covered, deeply sloped roof and jumped off. Turning in mid-air, he caught the rim of the roof with one hand and swung himself onto the small balcony outside the second floor room he shared with his friends and brother.  
  
"They are here," he called inside. For a brief moment he felt the warmth of the room as Aragorn opened the balcony door.   
  
"How many?" the Ranger asked.  
  
"At least fifty," Elrohir told him.  
  
"Sound the alarm," Legolas called out the room's door.   
  
Below a bell began to ring. Nodding swiftly at Aragorn, Elrohir put a hand on the Man's shoulder. "Be well, my foster-brother," he said, his blue gaze meeting Aragorn's.  
  
"May the Vala protect us," Aragorn's own hand rose to Elrohir's shoulder.  
  
Elrohir heard a door open and close downstairs. He looked out over the balcony to see Elladan running lightly across the snow to the neighboring home.  
  
Stepping back, Elrohir jumped up, catching the roof's lip and pulling himself up. He returned to his perch, but this time hid most of his body away from the street side of the building. It would not do to make himself a target.  
  
Legolas and Vanasulë raced across to the west side of the street, each taking a pre-arranged position on the roofs of the houses there. Aragorn and Mr. Skipkey also ran out, Aragorn to the north, Mr. Skipkey to the south. They gave quick orders and encouragement to the villagers who were piling out of their homes to aid in the ambush.   
  
Wagons were ready on the north. The south side of the street was already barricaded with furniture, barrels, blocks of hay and loose pieces of wood. All had been dosed in oil, ready to be set afire.  
  
Aragorn lit his torch from a village-woman's lantern. Her name was Verona. It was Aragorn's job to run the horse pulling the first wagon across the street once the raiders had passed his position. It was Verona's job to run the second horse and wagon into place. Once the wagons were in place, they would release the horses from the wagons and set it's contents alight.  
  
"Good luck, Master Aragorn," Verona whispered to the tall man beside her. If only she had been a few years younger, she thought wistfully.  
  
"And Good luck to both of us," Aragorn smiled at her.  
  
Despite her fears, she felt her insides melt a little as the handsome Ranger smiled at her. Remembering herself, Verona looked up the street. She could just make out the profile of her husband, Bret, as he peered around the edge of the barricade. Silently, she sent him her love. As if sensing her attention, he looked over and their eyes met. He inclined his head towards her, and she smiled back.  
  
The sound of the approaching riders drew everyone's attention to the north end of town. Sitting on the inn, the tallest building in town and far above the others, Elrohir could see the raiders clearly now. He stopped counting at fifty. At least they had surprise on their side.  
  
The band of raiders passed down the deserted road that ran the length of the small town. As they came close to the end and found the road blocked, the leaders reigned in their horses. Before they could warn the last of their party that something was amiss, Aragorn and Verona dashed across the road with their horse-drawn wagons. A few straggler marauders had not been caught in the trap, but Elladan and Vanasulë were already targeting them.   
  
Standing, Vanasulë ran lightly from rooftop to rooftop, leaping the distance in-between, pausing only to fire at one of the fleeing invaders.  
  
The raiders at the front of the group, including their leader, RaChay, still had not grasped the fact that they were in difficulty. It was only when the barricade before them, and now the wagons behind them, burst into flame that the realization that they were trapped dawned upon them.  
  
"Take cover. Shoot anything that moves," RaChay growled.   
  
Already the deadly arrows of the village archers were landing with terrifying efficiency among his men. How did these peasants learn to fire so well?  
  
RaChay leapt from his frightened horse and dashed for the shelter of the inn's porch. Looking across the street, he pulled his short bow from his back. He could see the culprits. The really deadly fire was coming from the archers positioned on the rooftops. How they didn't slide off and break their damned necks, he didn't know. They were difficult to see, but they rose slightly just before firing.   
  
He timed his own shot, then let go at the closest one as he rose. The arrow missed, but the result was that the archer now turned his attention on RaChay.  
  
"No you don't!" RaChay attempted to open the door to the inn. When it would not budge, he hit it with his shoulder and yelled at two of his men to help. 'Sidig, Jal, get over here!"  
  
Arrows were now flying up at the archers on the roofs as the marauders gave back a little of what they were receiving on the ground.  
  
RaChay and his men managed to beat down the door to the inn. Within he found Pao tied and gagged in a stout chair. Ignoring him, RaChay led his men, now joined by four more, out the back door.  
  
"We have to get around behind them," he snarled. You four get the fellow on this roof. Me, Jal and Sidig will go around behind the barricade and get that other guy. Once we have a hostage or two, we'll have the upper hand. Don't shoot this one," he jerked his thumb up towards the roof of the inn, "until we get into place on the other side. We don't want to give our game away too soon."  
  
From behind his post near the southern barricade, Dwalkin had seen the leader of the raiders break down the door to his inn. Anticipating what they might do, he had warned the villagers on his side of the barricade to run around towards Aragorn and Verona. In his haste to escape, he'd neglected to warn Legolas and Vanasulë.   
  
By the time RaChay reached the south side of the barricade, its defenders were gone. He and the two men with him raced around behind the building on the west side of the street, where they had a clear shot at the long-haired, blond archer on the roof.  
  
He's mine," RaChay told Jal and Sidig. Raising his short bow, he aimed carefully, then let his arrow fly.  
  
Legolas had killed at least fifteen of the marauders and was wondering where Dwalkin had gotten to, when hot fire raced through his right leg. He looked down in disbelief to see an arrow sticking out of the back of his thigh, then had to grab for the roof as his leg buckled and gave out.  
  
The icy peak of the roof had nothing he could hold on to, and Legolas began to slide down its steep incline. He looked over his shoulder and saw with growing horror that the leader of the marauders stood below, his bow still aimed upward.  
  
Reaching with his free hand, Legolas clawed at the roof. For a moment he caught on a wooden shingle, then an arrow flew close enough to his hand to tear through the top of it, slicing the skin before imbedding itself in the roof. His wounded hand could not hold on and Legolas continued his slide.   
  
He realized if he didn't let go of his bow, he was bound to fall right into the Men's hands. He flipped it, so that his hand slid between wood and string, then tried to use his left hand to find something to stop his fall.  
  
He found nothing to hold on to until he'd slid off the edge of the roof, then he used the roof's cold wet edge to stop his fall.  
  
"Come down!" the man shooting at him urged. "Jal, I think he could use a hand, don't you?"  
  
"Vanasulë!" Legolas called urgently. In Sindarin he added: "I could use your aid."  
  
Someone grabbed hold of Legolas' ankles and yanked. His precarious hold gave way and he tumbled down upon the man who had jerked him from the roof. The fall sent renewed waves of electric pain shooting through his injured leg.  
  
"Now we have him," the leader gloated over him, as he brought his sword out and held it against Legolas' neck. "Turn over, hands behind your back, and no tricks or I'll tickle you with my blade," he ordered Legolas. "Sidig, you tie him up good."  
  
Legolas could do nothing with the cold steel pressed close to his carotid artery. His hands were already empty, but the man the leader addressed as Sidig pulled the bow off his left arm, then turned him over, jerking both arms behind his back as he pressed a knee into Legolas' back. "RaChay, that was a fine shot," Sidig praised his leader.  
  
"Look, it gave us something to control him with," the leader said, and Legolas felt a new searing pain as the Man cruelly turned the arrow embedded in the back of his leg."  
  
Jal recovered from having been knocked to the ground as Legolas landed on him. He moved over and helped Sidig get their hostage to his feet.   
  
RaChay moved around to face his prisoner face to face. His dark eyes narrowed. Something was odd about this person. He wore no heavy clothes, though it was well below freezing. And his ears were pointed. Gradually, though he had never seen an Elf, it dawned upon RaChay that he had captured one. A wicked grin slowly spread across his face.  
  
"Let's hope the others caught such a prize," he said. "We shall have fun with this one." He stepped closer bringing his blade up to touch the fair face of his captive. The Elf glared silently at him with deep grey eyes. "What is an Elf doing here, anyway?" RaChay demanded. He turned the blade slightly as it caressed the Elf's pale cheek and drew a drop of blood.  
  
"You will tell me anything I want to know, hostage," RaChey told the Elf in a low voice. "Just you wait."  
  
His men laughed wickedly and Legolas clenched his teeth together as bile rose in his throat.   
  
When their plan first went into action, Legolas had no doubt that the marauders would all be dead before anyone could be harmed. Now, when they referred to him as their 'hostage,' he was less certain. Would they use him to hurt the others? Most certainly they would take revenge for all their fallen comrades.  
  
"Get our horses, or steal new ones," RaChay told Jal. "We need to get out of here."   
  
They moved back and away from the building, dragging Legolas with them. Tied, barely able to bear weight on his left leg, Legolas found no hope of escape. Sidig kept both hands on the Elf at all times.  
  
"If they threaten us, threaten to kill him," RaChay told Sidig. "Got that."  
  
The squinty-eyed Man nodded. He held tight to Legolas as RaChay pulled a dirty cloth from around his neck then gagged Legolas with it.  
  
"That should keep him quiet." RaChay sneered at his hostage.  
  
Legolas looked up past RaChay at the white-covered roofs. Where was Vanasulë? Why had he not heard the call for help?  
  
  
  
*** **** ***  
To be Continued.  
  
  
(author's note: a fathom is about six feet) 


	9. Chapter Nine Lost City of Tirillon

For those who have been kind enough to send in your reviews: Thank you again.   
  
Bryn, do not bite your fingernails or they will end up looking like Elijah's! This chapter answers some of your questions. Yes, I have grown to like Dwalkin, too.  
  
Nanashinigami and Kellen thank you for your kind words.   
  
Knight-Obi, yes I've read the trilogy way too many times, and I'm bracing myself to re-read the Silmarillian again.  
  
Saber-crazy, I thank you again.  
  
If I haven't thanked Chianna before, thank you! Your review was a lovely Christmas present to me. I really do read every one and take note of your suggestions and critiques.  
***** ***** *****  
Chapter Nine  
***** ***** *****  
  
As the battle began, Vanasulë noticed over a dozen of the marauders had escaped their trap completely. They rode in a loop up and around toward the flaming wagon-barricade, shooting any villager they could target with their small efficient bows. This then was their tactic, the Elf observed: Move quickly, strike, and keep moving. Well, two could play at that game.  
  
Jumping from the roof he had claimed as his base of attack, Vanasulë leapt from roof to roof, easily covering the narrow gaps between. Each time he landed, he took a moment to target one of the marauders. Those he targeted fell from their racing horses and did not get up.  
  
Vanasulë came to the first building outside of the villagers' wagon-barricade. He took cover behind the field stone chimney and began picking off more of the raiders. This tact worked well, but he was forced to stop when he heard a scream from below. Looking down, he saw one of the village's women with an arrow protruding from her chest. Blood ran unchecked down the bodice of her dress. Though he wanted to continue shooting, the Healer in him would not allow him to see the young woman suffer.  
  
Vaguely, Vanasulë wondered what had happened to the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Arrows had stopped flying at the enemy from the east side of the street where they were supposed to be stationed. Had something gone amiss?  
  
The snow gave as Vanasulë landed lightly on the ground, his bow still knocked with a white-fletched arrow in his left hand. He moved carefully and silently toward the sounds of the still screaming woman.   
  
The screaming now came from inside the building next to him, a small shop with the residence attached. He could hear three more female voices now. They tried to comfort the wounded woman.   
  
The shop's door was still ajar. Entering with his eyes still on the street for sign of more attackers, Vanasulë closed and barred the door. He then turned to face the interior. Beyond the shop, some sort of textile business was another darkened doorway. He moved stealthily forward and into a darkened parlor. Four women huddled over a fifth. As he looked more carefully, he saw the injured woman had seen no more than thirteen summers.   
  
"You two," he gestured with his eyes to two on the girl's right, "go upstairs and shoot out the windows at any foe you can target." They almost jumped as he spoke, then focused on him with wide, frightened eyes. "You two, station yourselves at the windows down here. And you," he singled out the oldest of the women who had grey streaks in her long dark hair, "get her a blanket." He indicated the moaning teenager.  
  
"Can you help Gemma?" the oldest one asked, rooted to the spot, her dark eyes locked on the Elf.  
  
"Yes." His grey gaze bore into her conveying his utter certainty. She nodded and left to find a blanket upstairs. The other two women, whom he had ordered upstairs, followed in her wake.  
  
Settling his bow against a chair, Vanasulë lifted the moaning girl up in his arms and carried her to the only soft piece of furniture in the room, a large chair with a thickly cushioned seat. Carefully, he sat her down. His eyes met hers. Dark, large and brown, they were filled with pain and fear.  
  
"You shall not die, young one," he told her softly. "We Elves have a few healing tricks. But the arrow must come out. That will be the hardest part. Can you hold still?" He knelt down beside her and took her cold, blood-covered hand in both of his.  
  
"I don't know," she admitted. Tears fell from her eyes to stream down her freckled cheeks. "It hurts so bad."  
  
"I will help you. Just listen to my words." Vanasulë began to speak very softly. Within a few moments, the girl's eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing relaxed as she listened to his rhythmic voice, lulling her into a trance.   
  
"You will feel only a tug," he whispered to her. "Just a little tug. Do not let it frighten you. It is a good thing. Tell your body that it is good. Tell your heart to beat steadily. Let life flow easily through you."   
  
Bracing the skin around the shaft with his left hand, Vanasulë gently pulled the wound apart with his index finger and thumb. Willing the girl to stay under the trance he had put her in, he pulled the arrow out. She gave a soft gasp.  
  
"Oh, Eru, help us," the younger woman by the window whispered. The two women in the room had forgotten their task as archers. They both looked over at the strange Elf working on their young friend. An eerie glow clung to the Elf, growing more pronounced in the darkened parlor. As he spoke to Gemma, the glow began to increase, becoming a shimmering golden-white.  
  
"What are you?" the woman asked, awe tingeing her voice.  
  
  
******** *********  
  
Aragorn had seen Vanasulë follow the injured woman into the house. After using all his arrows, he now waited, sword in hand, for any of the raiders to try and get past his post. Something behind the buildings caught his eye and he froze. Someone had run or ridden by the narrow gap between the houses. All Aragorn caught was the back of a horse. Quietly, he stepped back to see what was going on.  
  
One of the marauders had three horses by their reigns. He joined three more men in the back garden behind one of the buildings. The breath caught in Aragorn's throat as he realized one of them was Legolas. Moving closer, using the building's outhouse to hide himself, Aragorn tried to see what they were doing.   
  
Legolas' arms were tied behind his back and an arrow protruded from the back of his right leg. His clothes were stained dark red below the arrow and it looked as if the Elf had bled a great deal.   
  
As Aragorn spied on them, one of the men bent down behind Legolas. Aragorn sucked in his breath as he saw the man break the arrow shaft. Legolas, stoic Elf that he was, did not even flinch, Aragorn noticed. How much he is like the my twin brothers.  
  
One raider held the horses while the other two picked Legolas up and swung him over the pommel.  
  
"No!" Aragorn breathed. He looked around, but there was no one to aid him. If only he had more arrows. He had to get help.  
  
Snow crunched beneath his booted feet as he ran back toward the burning wagons. All the archers above had stopped firing. None of the raiders within the barricades were still horsed. Verona stood her ground, her bow at the ready. The few marauders still able to stand were on the northern side of the burning wagons, outside of the ambush zone. Two were trying to catch horses and escape. A third had already ridden north out of town.  
  
Sheathing his sword, Aragorn followed their lead, grabbing for the reigns of a frightened horse.  
  
"Where are you going?" Verona called.  
  
"They have taken Legolas." It was all he need tell Verona. Aragorn whispered softly to the sorrel mare he'd snared. He breathed into her nose before mounting her. With a gentle word and shift of poster, he urged her through the narrow gap between the buildings.   
  
Aragorn scanned the back yards and gardens for sign of Legolas. Already several furlongs away, the escaping marauders headed north with his friend. Touching his heels lightly to the horse's flanks, Aragorn rode after them.  
  
The darkening clouds which had been threatening snow all morning, finally let their force loose upon the countryside. Gusts of wind tugged at the Ranger's hair, blowing snow into his eyes, tearing at his clothing. He rode just close enough behind the men with Legolas to keep them in sight. The snow began falling so thickly, he was forced to use his tracking skills to follow.  
  
With a sinking dread, Aragorn hoped they did not go too far. His mind formed a vague plan of finding out where they would hold up, then riding back to get the Elves to aid him in an attack. But what if the men didn't stop? What if they kept riding into the storm?  
  
  
*** **** ***  
  
Elrohir had been oblivious to the men behind the inn as he targeted their comrades in the road below. He did notice that Vanasulë ran north across the roofs to get a better shot at the men attempting to flee. His attention was on the scattering targets below him when the first arrow whizzed by his head from behind.  
  
Looking over his shoulder and downward, Elrohir saw the four men. Three more arrows flew up towards him. He rolled down the roof, caught himself on the edge, and flipped himself into the balcony. He rose to his feet. An arrow knocked and ready to fire, Elrohir watched an arrow fly from a neighboring roof down towards the quartet below. One of the men fell dead. The other three split up, seeking what small amount of shelter the kitchen had to offer.  
  
"Can you get them?" Elrohir called to his brother on the roof next door.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Good, thought Elrohir. He climbed back up on the balcony railing. Catching hold of the roof, he swung himself gracefully up. Once he made it to the shelter of the chimney, he peered down into the street. Behind him, he heard another man fall to Elladan's deadly arrows. The sound of cursing and running feet floated up to him. He looked left and saw the men sprinting around the building toward the burning barricade.   
  
Quickly, he knocked an arrow and fired. The lead man fell. A moment later, a second shaft embedded itself in the last man's back.  
  
"That will teach them to try and sneak up on an Elf," Elrohir muttered in satisfaction. Turning his attention back to the street, he found enough to occupy himself for a short time.   
  
The battle did not last long. A few of the marauders had avoided the trap. They had ridden back north, the way they had come. Most others, over fifty of them, lay dead or dying in the road below. None remained to return the Elves' deadly fire.  
  
"Do you see any left?" Elrohir called to his twin.  
  
"No. I do not see Legolas or Vanasulë. And did you see Aragorn? He took off on horseback by himself." Elladan stood up, his eyes searching the street for any remaining threat as he spoke to Elrohir. "Let us find out what is going on."  
  
The roof Elladan stood on was only a two-story building. He was able to jump easily to the ground. Elrohir got to the balcony of the inn, then went inside and down the stairs. As he passed through the common room, he saw that Pao was still there, tied to a chair, a gag in his mouth.  
  
"Sorry, I will let you free as soon as possible," Elrohir apologized as he went through the broken door into the street.  
  
Elladan stood there unmoving, except for his vivid blue eyes. He held his bow in his left hand, an arrow resting on the string, as he searched for their friends with his Elven hearing and vision. Snow began to billow down and swirl along the road. His dark hair blew across his face and he turned into the wind, allowing it to clear his sight.  
  
"Legolas! Vanasulë!" Elladan called. Down the street a few doors, a window opened and a woman leaned out. She waved at them.  
  
Looking at his brother, Elladan quirked his head toward the woman. "Come."  
  
They moved cautiously, still weary of any of the raiders possibly feigning death in the street. Yet none of their fallen enemies moved.   
  
The door to the shop opened and the two Elves were ushered in and toward the parlor within. They found Vanasulë kneeling beside a young woman in a chair. Sensing them, he rose and turned to look them both in the eye.  
  
"I assume this means we won," the older Elf said causally.  
  
"Some escaped. Aragorn went off alone after them. I will follow him." Elladan spoke to Vanasulë, yet his attention was drawn to the young woman. Her dress was stained with blood.  
  
"Where is Legolas?" Elrohir asked.  
  
"He is not here." Vanasulë's brow darkened. "Is he not outside?"  
  
Elrohir turned and for the first time noticed the other women in the room. They stood silently, their eyes all on Vanasulë. It did not take him long to realize what they must be thinking if Vanasulë had just healed the woman in the chair. He spoke in Sindarin, knowing none of the villagers could understand. "You should not practice your arts so openly, my friend. These people will think it is magic."  
  
"I could not allow her to suffer." Vanasulë replied, picking up his weapon. "We should find Aragorn and Legolas."   
  
The front door opened to reveal Verona and Dwalkin standing in the threshold. They came back toward the parlor.  
  
"Are there any more injured?" Vanasulë reverted to the common tongue.  
  
"A few, no one really bad. We did loose two of our own," Dwalkin told them sadly. "Verona here saw Aragorn ride off after your friend."   
  
The village woman nodded. Her face was darkened by soot from the burning wagons, but she still held her bow. "He told me they took Legolas."  
  
"Where?" Vanasulë demanded.  
  
"He rode north," she told him.  
  
"Then, we shall ride north," Vanasulë announced. "Mr. Skipkey, you live among brave people."  
  
"I didn't know they had it in 'em," he told the tall Elf as they walked back out into the snow. "I guess they were all as fed up and tired of being frightened as I was."  
  
In wordless agreement, the three Elves split up, each going for his own horse. Elrohir also called for Legolas' horse, which came willingly.   
  
The snow fell thickly as they followed the nearly invisible trail of Aragorn and the men holding Legolas.  
  
*** *** ****  
  
  
The marauders who had escaped the ambush in the village straggled back to a farmhouse, a few leagues north of town. Until that morning, they had been using it as a refuge against the storm. When the snow let up, they had headed for the town. Their first night at the farm, they had murdered the farmer, but kept his wife and children alive to run chores, cook and amuse themselves.  
  
Now, as the raiders rode back in, the widow and her two children cowered inside their home. The nightmare had returned.  
  
The first to arrive was Lucky Tupril. He'd realized at once that they could not fight a battle in the narrow, confined space of the road. On the outside of the ambush, he turned his horse north at once. Soon followed Jursel, Panks and Spithwon. Even as the four were congratulating themselves on surviving the massacre in the town, RaChay, their leader, Sidig and Jal rode up.  
  
"Look, boys, we have a hostage," RaChay indicated the golden-haired Elf thrown over his saddle's pommel. "Take care not to hurt him, we need him alive."  
  
RaChay dismounted and let his men get the hostage down.   
  
Legolas steeled himself as his feet hit the snow sending a new jolt of pain up his injured leg. The men holding him kept him from falling, as they each took an arm and almost carried him inside the farm house.   
  
The front room was still in shambles from the raiders' last visit. Yet a small fire burned in the hearth and there was the smell of some herbs in the air. Legolas felt himself on the verge of passing out. He could feel the blood dripping down his leg. His right boot was filled with it. He wanted to sink down, but the arms roughly holding him did not allow it.  
  
"Why do we need a hostage?" Jursel asked, eyeing the Elf's leg. "He's bleeding all over the place."  
  
"Because Elves are loyal to one another. We can lure his friends in and kill them one by one. You don't think those villagers had sense enough to attack us on their own, do you? Besides, I saw two more up on the roofs, so I know there are at least two, unless my boys killed them all."  
  
The men laughed heartily at this. Legolas kept his face impassive except for the tense muscles of his jaw. He could feel his strength ebbing away. He did not know how much longer he would remain conscious. His leg was continuing to bleed. Being bounced around on a horse had not helped.  
  
One of the men came up and looked him directly in the eye. "RaChay, he's awfully pale. If you want him alive, we'd better tend to his wound and stop the bleeding."  
  
"You're our healer, Panks. Take care of it." RaChay headed toward the fire pit and threw on more wood. "Where's that useless woman? Woman, bring us hot tea!"   
  
"Over here," Panks grabbed the front of Legolas' tunic and half-dragged him toward the stairs.   
  
Legolas' leg could not bear any weight. "I cannot climb the stairs without my hands," Legolas told the man. He was surprised to hear how strong his voice sounded.  
  
"Oh, yes, like that's going to happen. Do you think I'm dull-witted, Mr. Elf? Here, you, Lucky, help him up the stairs." Panks gestured toward the largest of their band who had just helped Legolas into the house.  
  
Lucky stood beside Legolas looking intently at him. "I have never seen an Elf before. He's prettier than the farmer's widow, isn't he?"  
  
"Just help him up the stairs," Panks told him. "RaChay needs him alive."  
  
With a "Humf," Lucky put an arm back around Legolas and helped him hop up the stairs. There were two rooms above and Legolas was taken into the larger one. With the thickly falling snow and howling wind, it was dark and cold in the room. The wooden shutters were latched closed. Their captive was forced face down upon a rumbled bed.   
  
Legolas thought he wanted to sink down, but lying with his face against the unwashed bedding nauseated him. His hands were untied from behind his back and each wrist was tied to the top legs of the bed.  
  
"I'll finish securing him, you get me some boiling water," Panks instructed Lucky. "Bring up some wood for the brazier here. It's freezing. How these peasants stand it like this, I do not know." He roughly tied Legolas' ankles to the bottom legs of the bed.   
  
Satisfied that their prisoner was going nowhere, Panks left. A moment later he returned with an oil lamp. He set it atop the small table beside the bed.  
  
"Now lets look at that wound of yours," Panks said, sitting beside Legolas on the bed. He spread the blood-soaked suede material around what was left of the arrow shaft aside. "That will have to come out, but I'm afraid you'll just bleed more."  
  
Legolas said nothing. He felt ill and cold. He should not be feeling cold. He realized shock was setting in and he vaguely began to wonder if the brigand's arrow had hit a major vessel. A lucky shot. Not so lucky for me, though. Legolas closed his eyes, fighting the waves of vertigo washing over him.  
  
More noise brought Legolas' attention back to the present. For a moment he had wandered under starlight through the forest of Mirkwood. "Elbereth Gilthoniel," he whispered to comfort himself.  
  
"I want to watch," Lucky's voice came from above. Legolas wondered what sort of person took pleasure in the pain of others. This Man acted more like an Orc.  
  
Panks was doing something with the boiling water, which released steam into the room. "This looks clean enough. Help hold his leg still, would you, Lucky?"  
  
A soft exhalation of breath was the only signal Panks heard that told him when the Elf passed out. He finished digging the head of the arrow from the hot, wet interior of the Elf's leg, then squeezed it shut. Blood welled out between his hands. Lucky helped him wrap a dressing as tightly as possible around their captive's leg.  
  
Lucky looked down at the unconscious Elf. "He is pretty pale. It almost looks..." He bent over. "Panks, he's glowin'."  
  
"So I've noticed. Get some snow in a bucket, would you Lucky? We'll put it over the wound and hope it slows the bleeding. RaChay will have my hide if this one dies." Panks stood, wiping the blood off his hands. His patient indeed had a deathly pallor to him.  
  
Wind whipped at the wooden shutters. At least we've warmed him up a bit, Panks thought. If no one disturbs him, he might have a chance.  
  
The door to the room opened again, as Lucky brought in the requested bucket of snow. Behind him piled Jursel and Spithwon.  
  
"What are you all doing here?" Panks asked, hands akimbo on his hips.  
  
"We wanted to see if he really glows," Jursel told him. He and Spithwon went over to the restrained hostage and stared.  
  
"See, it's just like I said," Lucky told them.  
  
"Just don't you boys hurt him," Panks said sternly. "I spent a good amount of time tending his wound and I don't want you to undo all my work." He walked out of the room, intent on getting something to eat.  
  
Lucky looked at his two friends. "I think we could have a little fun without even touching his leg, don't you?"  
  
The other two nodded eagerly.   
  
"What did you have in mind?" Jursel asked.  
  
** ** ** ** ** **  
  
To be Continued...  
  
  
  
5 


	10. Chapter Ten Lost City of Tirillon

Again I want to thank those who have given me reviews. Nimwen, Elise, Dimitri, Lena, Minka, YunaDax, bryn and sabercrazy. Some of you have been kind enoubh to comment on just about every chapter, too. It is appreciated.  
  
Disclaimers from Chapter One still stand. Now let's see what's happening to our heroes.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Chapter 10  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Legolas awoke to the feel of someone's cold rough hands between his bare skin and the waistband of his trews.* It catapulted him into full consciousness. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed in anger. "Get your filthy hands off me!" he growled.  
  
"He's awake," Lucky said. He had one knee on the bed beside Legolas as he fumbled underneath the prone Elf, fighting with the unfamiliar garment.   
  
"Maybe he can tell you how to unlatch those fancy Elven clothes of his," another of the men jested.  
  
Frustrated and in pain, Legolas began to curse fluently in Sindarin. The humans wouldn't understand the words, but they would get his intended contempt.  
  
"We just want to see all of you," Lucky told Legolas, "and maybe play a little bit." He moved his hands to the belt outside Legolas' suede tunic and began to undo it. Legolas squirmed beneath him, helpless in his fetters.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The wind came gusts, but the snow continued to fall thickly outdoors.   
  
Aragorn had hidden his horse on the far side of the barn. It had been the best he could do under the circumstances to secure a getaway. He then had made his way toward the farmer's house, which he had circled three times in an attempt to determine where they held Legolas.   
  
Light came through the cracks of the wooden shutters upstairs in the front room, downstairs in the front room and in what Aragorn had determined was the kitchen. It appeared to him that the kitchen and front room shared a fireplace between them, since there was only one chimney on the roof. Chances were the upper rooms had no hearths.   
  
His best chance to infiltrate the home was through the kitchen, Aragorn decided. He felt bitterly cold as he stopped to study the back door. His footsteps made no noise as he moved cautiously to the kitchen's door. It wouldn't be noise that gave him away to any occupants, he knew, it would be the cold wind seeping inside when he opened the door. Keeping this in mind, he stood with his body against the door, took hold of the latch, and opened it only a fraction.   
  
The smell of tea and cooking meat reached his nostrils. He could hear a child crying and also a strange, repetitive pounding sound. His view captured only a sliver of the room, he could not see the child or what made the pounding sound. Aragorn's heart beat loudly in his ears as he pushed the door open just a little more.  
  
Now he could see inside. A woman pounded doe on a table and two small children clung to her skirts. He could only see her in profile, but it was evident from the tears on her face that she cried softly as she worked.  
  
The cold must have caught her attention, because she turned, eyes wide with fear, toward the door. Aragorn's gaze met hers, and he held his finger to his lips.  
  
She wiped her hands on her apron and approached him, her face a mixture of fear and hope.  
  
"Get the children and come with me," Aragorn whispered. "Do you have a cloak?"  
  
She had a shawl wrapped across her chest and tied in back, but it would not do much against the freezing temperatures outside. "No." She picked up one child and grabbed the older one, who couldn't be more than six, by the hand. The woman went outside and stood as Aragorn closed the door softly behind them.  
  
"Anyone else besides the bandits in the house?" he asked her.  
  
"No. Those murderers killed my husband." She shivered.   
  
Putting his left arm around her shoulders, Aragorn steered the woman and children toward his mount, talking more loudly as they got away from the house. "I'll get you to my horse. It's already saddled. Ride into town. Mr. Skipkey will take care of you."  
  
They rounded the far side of the barn, and Aragorn sheathed his sword and shrugged out of his cloak. He put it around her shoulders and then helped her mount his steed. Handing the children up to her he asked, "Have you seen aught of my friend the Elf?"   
  
She shook her head. "I don't know. If he was the blonde man they had, they took him upstairs. I know not what they've done with him." She paused. "They were brutal to me, if you get my meaning, sir. They are evil. They tortured my husband before they killed him. Made him watch what they did to me."  
  
Aragorn felt his jaw clench at her words. "Go." He took the bridle and turned the horse to face the direction of the town. She put her heels to the horse and rode off.   
  
Redrawing his sword, Aragorn looked around the corner of the barn just in time to the kitchen door standing open. He must not have latched it securely and the wind had blown it back open. Even as Aragorn looked, a man with a sword appeared in the doorway.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The fire burned brightly, warming the front parlor, but RaChay added another piece of wood anyway. He listened to the sound of the fire as it crackled, then noticed how quiet it was. Jal and Sidig stood by the kitchen door arguing in low tones about the woman. RaChay's gaze moved down to Panks, who had seated himself on a small stool by the hearth.  
  
"Where is everyone?" RaChay asked. Panks shrugged.  
  
His eyes narrowing in suspicion, RaChay moved toward the stairs. Someone was talking up there and by the tone of it, he wasn't too happy. Taking the steps two at a time, RaChay burst into the room. Lucky knelt over their hostage while Jursel and Spithwon looked on, smiles on their faces. RaChay realized now that it was the Elf he had heard. The creature was talking in some foreign tongue and it sounded as if he was cursing them.  
  
"What are you doing to my Elf?" RaChay demanded. "I told you all not to hurt him."  
  
"We weren't hurting him," Lucky told him. "We just wanted to see more of him. He glows."  
  
RaChay grabbed Lucky's shoulder and yanked him away from the cot where the Elf lay. "If he bleeds, I'm going to take it out of your hide. Can you even imagine what he's worth in Tirillon?"  
  
Legolas had been calling the oaf who harassed him every foul name he could think of, but when RaChay said "Tirillon," the Elf froze. Did these common bandits know about Tirillon? He exhaled, not evening realizing he'd been holding his breath.   
  
RaChay continued to verbally assault the three men as he ushered them out of the room. He paused for a moment once they were gone, looking down at his captive. Besides having his clothes rumpled, the Elf didn't appear to have been harmed.  
  
"You just stay and rest," RaChay ordered. "We'll be riding out soon." Legolas felt the man touch his hair before saying, " A real Elf is worth a lot to me. I won't let them do any permanent harm to you." He bent closer and Legolas could feel the Man's breath next to his ear. "But I will whip you myself if you even try to escape. Got that?"  
  
In answer, Legolas gave the man silence. He would escape. It was just a matter of time and healing. There was no question in the Elf's mind that he would not be humiliated by the likes of these. They acted more like orcs than men. He ground his teeth in frustration.  
  
Laughing, RaChay put a few more pieces of wood on the brazier and left the room, firmly shutting the door.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Agreed then?" Sidig asked.  
  
"Agreed," Jal grinned. He opened the door to the kitchen, having made a deal with Sidig that he would get the woman first this time. The kitchen was empty. No woman. No brats.  
  
"Hey, she's gone," he told Sidig.  
  
"What?"  
  
Both men moved into the kitchen. "She can't get far," Sidig told Jal. "Let's go find her an teach her why she shouldn't run away."  
  
"Right."  
  
The two men went out the door and looked down at the footprints in the snow. "Someone else was here," Jal said. "Come on, they've gone to the barn."  
  
Aragorn pulled back behind the shelter of the barn. He looked after the woman. She was not able to ride too fast with the snow and two children. He had to give them time to get away. Sword in hand, he straightened his shoulders and went to meet the two marauders.  
  
"Look," Jal growled, seeing a man in dark colors come around the side of the barn. "That's not one of our lot."  
  
"No," Sidig agreed. "Let's get him!"  
  
They approached Aragorn cautiously, swords drawn, one going to his left, one to his right.  
  
In the front room, Panks looked up. Lucky, Jursel and Spithwon were tramping down the stairs. He wondered what they had been doing up there. A moment later he felt cold air on his back, and turned to see the door to the kitchen open.  
  
"Hey, what's going on?" Panks asked, standing and facing the open doorway.  
  
Jursel moved forward and looked in. The kitchen was empty, it's door to the outside wide open. "Where's the woman?" he asked no one in particular.  
  
"Come on, she's trying to get away!" Lucky drew his sword and brushed past Jursel. A moment later, Spithwon and Jursel had followed Lucky out into the snow. They could see Jal and Sidig fighting with someone.  
  
"Five to one, those are odds I like," Lucky said, running to join in the battle.  
  
RaChay came downstairs to find everyone rushing into the kitchen. Panks stood, buckling his sword around his waist.  
  
"What's happening?" RaChay asked.   
  
"Sounds like the woman tried to run away." Panks shrugged. He was older than the others and moved a little more slowly.   
  
Cussing, RaChay stalked toward the kitchen calling back, "You guard the Elf. This may be a trick his friends are playing to get us all out of the house."  
  
Nodding, Panks moved to the foot of the stairs and began to climb.  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The three Elves drew their horses to a halt as they saw someone approaching through the flurry of snow.  
  
"It's a woman with children," Elrohir said in amazement. He rode forward towards her and the other two Elves urged their own mounts after him.  
  
"Please," the woman called to them. "Help me get to the village. There are cutthroats in my home. They've taken over and killed my husband."  
  
"Have you seen our friend?" Elrohir asked, taking his cloak off and throwing it over the woman's. He noted that her cloak looked amazingly like Estel's.  
  
"There is a blond man inside…upstairs. The man who gave me this cloak stayed behind," she told Elrohir. "I must get the children to shelter."  
  
Elrohir exchanged glances with his brother. "I'll take them to the Inn, you two go after Estel and Legolas."  
  
Vanasulë and Elladan nodded, then turned their horses toward the farmhouse, which was now just visible to their Elven eyes.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The door to Legolas' room opened again and something heavy was dragged inside. Spitting his hair out of his face, Legolas looked over to see Aragorn half-dragged, half-walk in. RaChay and Lucky pushed Aragorn down into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. He had a bleeding gash across the side of his head and an already swelling shut right eye. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he were only partially conscious.  
  
RaChay and Lucky, both wearing identical angry glares as they worked, tied Aragorn's hands behind his back and then secured them to the foot and frame of Legolas' bed.  
  
"Now we have two hostages," RaChay said straightening.  
  
"Yeah, but Jal and Sidig are dead." Lucky kicked Aragorn in the side saying, "That'll teach you to mess with us."  
  
With a soft groan, Aragorn fell over on his side and brought his knees up.  
  
RaChay looked at the Elf and met the creatures' hateful blue stare. "See, I told you. You're mine, and so's your human friend now." He leaned closer. "The same will happen to anyone coming after you."  
  
With a smirk, RaChay opened the door. "Come on, Lucky. He's let our cook escape, now we'll have to get something to eat ourselves."  
  
The two men left the room, shutting the door and latching it.  
  
"Estel, what are you doing here?" Legolas asked, concerned for the man.  
  
Aragorn sat up, a bright smile on his face. "I'm rescuing you."  
  
Legolas raised a brow. "You were not hurt as bad as I thought?"  
  
"No. I wanted them to think I was weak." He struggled against his bonds. "I was hoping they wouldn't tie me so well if they thought I was too injured to try and escape."  
  
The Elf sighed. "If you're my rescuer, then who is going to rescue you?"  
  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
*trews is the oldest word for men's tight-fitting trousers. 


	11. Chapter Eleven Lost City of Tirillon

The characters, except those I invented, belong to Tokien, you know the rest. 

I want to again thank those of you who give me feedback, this includes . rouge solus, Knight Obi, robindragon, Chianna, Nimwen, Elise, Dimitri, Lena, Yuna Dax, Nanashinigami, Kellen and especiall I wish to thank Minka, sabercrazy and bryn, you are especially encouraging, writing reviews on each chapter. Thank you all for giving me the impetus to continue. Let's see how the lads are doing, shall we? 

Chapter 11

Aragorn softly laughed at Legolas' question. "In truth, Elladan and Elrohir are like mother hens, so if I do not succeed in rescuing you, they will probably come barging in here. But I do have a plan. Do you think I would so rashly rush in without one?" He looked to his right at Legolas, who was tied face down to the small bed. 

"In truth, Aragorn son of Arathorn, I do not know you very well." His voice was thoughtful tinged with fatigue. 

Legolas heard some shuffeling, then Aragorn said, "There's a knife hidden in my right boot, can you pull it free?" 

From his limited vantage point, Legolas could not see much, but he could feel the leather of Aragorn's boot against the back of his hand. Twisting his wrist and using his fingertips to find the top rim of the boot, he felt for the weapon. 

"A little more to the … down," Aragorn directed him. His voice sounded strained and Legolas could only imagine what position the young man must be in to have his leg up near his own fettered hand. 

He did find it. Using just his index and middle finger, he inched it out of the boot, then pulled it into his grasp. The blade was only three inches long, but it would do. 

"Oh!" Aragorn exhaled. "I didn't know how long I could do that." 

He continued to talk as Legolas slowly began to saw with the little knife through the hard rope. "You are right, Legolas. You don't know me well. I don't know you well. There is much I am curious about, but living among Elves most of my life has taught me not to ask questions." 

"Dûno!" Legolas hissed. (1) 

Aragorn did not question Legolas' command. He shut his mouth and tried to breathe as softly as possible. He knew from working in dangerous situations with the twins, that Legolas must be listening to something. 

Elven senses are much keener than Men's. Legolas' attention was drawn to the dialogue going on downstairs as soon as the word "Tirillon" was mentioned again. He focused his mind on their words, even has his hand continued to slowly saw at his ropes. 

"Yes, and his gear will bring us a pretty price, too," RaChay was saying. "Where are his weapons?" 

"Here," Panks' voice responded. 

There was a moment of silence and Legolas could hear footsteps. 

"Ooo, these blades are as sharp as a razor," RaChay again. They've got artwork all over them. I guess those fancy Elves play with all their toys." A moment's pause then. "And this bow is unusual. It must be six feet long when unstrung." 

Gritting his teeth, Legolas could picture the raiders pawing his belongings. He sawed a little more quickly, but the knife in his hand was not the sharpest of tools. 

"Look at that," Lucky's voice was loudest. "RaChay, can't you pull it? Don't tell me that skinny Elf is stronger than you." 

Legolas heard RaChay say a word he was not familiar with. From the man's tone, it must be a curse. "Maybe it's not his bow," Panks suggested. "If it is, he can't pull it in the shape he's in." 

"We'll see." RaChay's voice reflected the anger he must have felt at being humiliated in front of his men when he couldn't draw Legolas' bow. Legolas exhaled. There were footsteps on the stairs. 

"They're coming!" Legolas warned Aragorn, who immediately resumed his position on the floor, playing the part of a man badly beaten.. 

As quickly as possible, Legolas slid the knife between the straw mattress and the wooden frame of the bed. A heartbeat later, the door latch moved and RaChay stomped into the room. 

"Is this your bow?" he demanded, shoving the bow before Legolas' eyes. 

"Yes," Legolas answered. 

"I don't believe it," Lucky commented, standing behind RaChay. 

Panks entered more slowly, carrying a handful of fuel for the room's brazier and adding it to the flames as he came in. 

"Then do not believe me," Legolas said. "I care not." 

"Arrogant Elf!" RaChay brought the end of the bow down hard into Legolas' back. "You're my property now, got that? You'd better care what I believe and what I think." Then in a more controlled voice he said, "Here, Lucky, untie him. I want to see him pull the bow." 

"Now, RaChay," Panks spoke up. "If that wound opens again, he could bleed to death. He's not strong enough to pull it now, anyway. Let it be." 

But RaChay would not let it be. 

As Lucky first untied Legolas' ankles, then his hands, Legolas hoped Lucky would not notice the frayed rope. For once that day his own luck held; Lucky didn't notice the cut in the rope. 

Panks moved closer to the prisoners. "Get him up easy, watch the leg." 

"Yeah, sure," Lucky muttered. "Sit up, Elf." 

Pushing his hands under his chest, Legolas raised himself up gradually, also keenly aware of the pain in his leg. He moved slowly to sit up and used his hand to help his right leg to the floor. The world seemed to darken a bit as he sat, but he maintained control of his senses. 

"Here. Pull it." RaChay put the bow in front of Legolas' face. 

"_If only I had an arrow,_" Legolas thought. He blinked away the darkness and looked up at his bow. 

"He's got strange eyes," Lucky said, seeing Legolas' eyes clearly for the first time. "Every thing about him is strange." 

Legolas reached for the bow, wondering how much strength he did have. Could he clobber one or two of them with it? But no, there were a few more downstairs and they might take their anger out on Aragorn and Panks had been almost kind to him. Using the only weapon he really had, Legolas raised his eyes and glared at Lucky. 

An Elven glare could raise the hackles on a man. Few could return such a fierce stare. Lucky met his gaze only for an instant, then his face showed something akin to fear and he took a step back, raising a hand defensively. "He's got the evil eye!" Lucky warned. "Watch him, RaChay, he'll curse you. He'll curse us all." 

RaChay seemed to consider this. "Draw the bow," were his only words. 

Legolas held the bow in his left hand, tilting it to accommodate his sitting position, then pulled back on the string. Weak as he was, he could still pull the string the full length, but he knew he couldn't hold it without shaking, so he gently released it. 

"You're more dangerous then I thought," RaChay spoke softly. "Lucky, tie him up and blindfold him, too. We don't want him giving anyone the evil eye." 

The bow was pulled from Legolas' hands and Lucky pointed to the bed. Legolas lay down, but this time face up. He felt less helpless in that position. The men didn't seem to notice. 

"I don't have anything to put over his eyes." Lucky straightened after securing Legolas to the sturdy bed frame. He had refused to look directly at Legolas' face while he worked. "I'll find something." 

Panks bent over to make sure Legolas' wound had not started bleeding again. With a satisfied grunt, he stood and followed Lucky out of the room. RaChay stood for a moment looking between Aragorn and Legolas. "Try anything," he warned Legolas, "And you're friend will pay for it." To emphasize his point, he brought the end of the bow down into Aragorn's side. The blow brought a grunt from the Ranger. 

RaChay left, again latching the door as he went. 

"Deleb perglam!"(2) Legolas growled. 

"Can you reach the knife?" Aragorn asked in Sindarin from his position on the floor. 

"I think so. I will wait until Lucky returns before I try it," Legolas replied in the same tongue. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Vanasulë and Elladan dismounted and made their way toward the barn, telling their mounts to remain further back. There was little speech between them. The snow was falling softly, the wind dying down, and a great silence seemed to have settled over the land. 

Elladan leaned toward Vanasulë. "Can one not as old as you use Dínenglam?"(3) 

Vanasulë's bright eyes turned to him. "I can use it. Let us hope Legolas is well enough to hear me." Taking a deep breath, Vanasulë brought his attention inward, to the light that burned within all living things. If he went deep enough, he could find Legolas' light there, too. He silver eyes remained opened, seeing the world around him, even as he sensed Legolas' presence as if he stood before him. 

"_You are in pain_." 

Within the upstairs room, Legolas felt his mentor's essence touching him. "_Yes, my friend, but it is of no concern. Aragorn is here with me_." 

"_We thought as much._" There was a touch of humor in Vanasulë's Dínenglam. He could also sense Elladan's attention on their conversation. "_Estel rescued the woman and children from these villains_." 

"_Yes, he said he had come to rescue me._" Legolas smiled, his gaze going to the man who risked his young life to save him. "_These men know of Tirillon. We must question them_." 

There was a long pause before Vanasulë responded. "_I would not have you and Aragorn at their mercy just for information about Tirillon.. This little quest of ours is not worth your lives_." 

"_Try not to kill them all."_

"_If you insist_." More humor hummed between the two. 

"_Do nothing until dark. By then, if the luck of the Valar is with us, Aragorn and I shall be free of our bonds and long gone. If we are still here, attack then. These men fear the dark. They fear us_." 

"_They have good reason to._" 

With a sigh, Vanasulë turned to face Elladan. The other's grey eyes had turned to look at the farmhouse in the distance. "It looks like your brother will not miss out on our visit this evening." 

Elladan's dark head nodded slowly. "I sensed there were things he did not share with us." His gaze met the older Elf's. "They're both injured. Both threatened somehow." 

"You have dealt more with Orcs than Men in your battles. Men are smarter, but they can be just as mean." He paused, thinking how to phrase what he had to say to Elladan. "The Orcs enjoy cruelty and torment. They play with their victims and torture them. Humans have learned much from the Orcs." 

"Do you think they would torture Estel and Legolas? But why? To gather intelligence? They have no valuable information. What can these men hope to gain, but our wrath?" 

"For sport. Like the Orcs, they get a certain twisted pleasure from the suffering of others," Vanasulë explained. "Though, unlike Orcs, men have the song of Ilúvater in them. There is always a chance they will heed the song and remember who they really are." 

Elladan stared into the grey depths of Vanasulë's eyes, hoping to find some assurances there. What he found was not assurances, but things left unsaid. 

"Estel is a man. I do not see these horrors in his heart." Elladan looked away from the other Elf. 

"Yes, he is a man, but he has the blood of the Dúnedain, of Isildur and Elendil in his veins. His people were ever friends with the Elves, and he has been brought up by Elves. Is it any wonder that he is among the best of men?" 

A smile tugged Elladan's serious mouth into a grin. "I guess not. Yet, he is not of the Firstborn, and he can see only this world. He will never hear the Dínenglam or see the Unseen." 

"I do not know." Vanasulë turned his own gaze back to the farmhouse. "It is said that some Men can hear and see into the Unseen. They call it a seventh sense, or is it sixth sense? I am not as familiar with their vernacular as I once was." 

"I did not know you ever had much dealings with Men," Elladan replied. 

"Oh, yes. When we fought Sauron I was one of the Royal Messengers. I carried information betwen the captains of Elendil's armies, to Elendil himself upon occasion, and the Elf Lords. I did not dealt mainly with warriors, so I am sure my view of them was somewhat skewed that way. 

"Many years later, however, I did have occasions to live among them for a while. The women were more considerate than the men, in fact, where I was, the men treated the women like chattel. It was most," he paused looking for the right word, "distressing." 

Elladan looked to see that Vanasulë's brow furrowed in almost a pained expression. "Is that where you learned of the brutality of Men?" 

Slowly blinking, Vanasulë turned his fair face upon him. "Yes, it is." 

"That is a tale to be told some time," Elladan said in a lighter tone. "But not today, I think." 

"No. Not today. Tell me of this Estel. I would know more of him." 

Elladan smiled broadly. "Oh, there is much to tell you. Where shall I start?" 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The door to the upstairs room opened, and Lucky entered, a strip of cloth in one hand. "This is for you," he told Legolas with a wicked grin. Bending over the Elf, he tied the cloth over the entire top half of his head, effectively covering his eyes. He bound it tightly, then leaned down close to Legolas' leaf-shaped ear. "I suspect we're going to be spending a lot of time together, if we're going where I think. You'd better learn quick who's in charge here. RaChay can't stay awake all day, if you get my meaning, and there's things I can do to you that leave no mark." 

Snickering to himself, Lucky straightened and looked down at Aragorn. "You'd better behave yourself, as well, my lad." He left them, firmly closing the door behind himself. They could hear his boots going down the wooden stairs. 

"Such a charmer," Aragorn said sitting up again, speaking once again in Sindarin. 

"The others are near. They will wait until nightfall to attack," Legolas told him. 

Aragorn did not ask how he knew such things. He had witnessed many silent conversations between the Elves, which always ended abruptly when he entered their presence. His thoughts wandered back to Rivendell and to the beautiful Elf-maid he had encountered under the white birch trees there. "Legolas, I would ask you a question about the Elves." 

Searching blindly with his fingers for the knife he'd hidden, Legolas said, "Ask." 

"I have wondered and neither Elladan or Elrohir have a satisfying answer for me. How is it that the Elves ventured to Numenor in the days when Men were friends with Elves there? Why did the sea-longing not affect them?" 

Legolas found the knife. As he carefully began to saw at his bonds, he considered Aragorn's question. "I know not the answer to your question, except that when the Elves visited Numenor the Blessed Realm was not yet sundered from this world. Maybe the Valar had not yet touched the heart of Elves with the sea-longing. I know, I have never felt it. They say, once it is upon one, that Elf can never be content in Middle-Earth again." 

"Yes, it sounds more like a curse, yet its purpose is clear. The Valar would have all of the Firstborn with them in Valinor." 

Legolas' work paid off. His left hand was free. Pulling off his blindfold, he set to work on his right hand's bonds. "It has always been the Valar's intention for us to join them there, yet some of us enjoy this land and would tarry here. I have known nothing but this land. I cannot imagine leaving it." 

"Someday," Aragorn spoke thoughtfully, "I will travel down to Harad to explore its deserts and across to the Bay of Belfalas to see the spires of Dol Amroth. I want to know every stride of this world." Eagerness caused his voice to rise. "Legolas, have you ever ridden the green fields of Rohan or climbed the great mallorn trees of Lothlorien?" 

Despite their situation, Legolas could not help but smile as he sensed the young man's enthusiasm. "Yes, I have been to Lothlorien, but the leaves have fallen in Mirkwood over two hundred times since then. I have never been to Rohan. I hear they have great herds of horses there. I prefer my own elven-horse. Besides, it is a land of Men. I have no business there." His right hand free, he sat carefully up and set to work on the remanding ropes about his ankles. 

"I have seen much already, but there's always a new hill to climb, a new meadow to cross," Aragorn continued. "I have met my kin, the Dúnedain, also. They seemed as strangers to me, for in truth, I know my own people not. I plan to learn more of them once Elladan and Elrohir release me from their schooling." 

"If they had their way, elvellon,(4) they would never release you. The day you are a hundred, they will still look upon you as young and needing their assistance." 

"Nay, not one hundred," Aragorn sighed. "For I would flee them long before then. If not for this quest we have set for ourselves, I would have departed the morning after we met in the cave." 

"Would you indeed?" Legolas sounded as if he didn't quite believe Aragorn. 

"Yes, for my heart calls to me to explore." 

"And do you like this exploring?" Legolas gestured around the room that was their prison. 

A grinned tugged at Aragorn's lips and he looked up at Legolas, his right eye now swollen almost shut. "I would have it no other way."   


To be Continued… 

Sindarin words and English meanings   
1. Dûno! : 'Silence!'   
2. Deleb perglam : 'loathsome half-orcs'   
3. Dínenglam :Silentspeech – this is one way the Elves have to speak among themselves – mind to mind. Maiar also have this ability, as described by Tolkien in "Return of the King" when Gandalf, The Hobbits, Galadriel and their party are heading north from Edoras and camp near the Gates of Moria:   
Often long after the hobbits were wrapped in sleep they would sit together under the stars, recalling the ages that were gone and all their joys and labours in the world, or holding council, concerning the days to come. If any wanderer had chanced to pass, little would he have seen or heard, and it would have seemed to him only that he saw grey figures, carved in stone, memorials of forgotten things now lost in unpeopled lands. For they did not move or speak with mouth, looking from mind to mind; and only their shining eyes stirred and kindled as their thoughts went to and fro.   
4. elvellon: Elf-friend   
  



End file.
